Motherhood can be a fickle business

Johnson & Johnson commercials lead newmoms to believe that we will just adore every single thing our little miraclesdo. Ask a new mom how much she cherished cleaning a diaper explosion in the middle of the night only to have her precious son pee all over her in the process. I'd love to see a formula commercial where the husband and wife lovingly gaze into the face of their sleeping angel as the husband gushes, "Honey, do you remember the time Little Johnny projectile puked all over the new sofa?" And she smiles as she recalls the stain that never came out as well as the soured formula smell that still wafts out of the side cushion. It would never happen because some things about infancy are just miserable. Then babies morph into stubborntoddlers, and from there it just gets downright scary. It’s so easy to love thecuddly child who hugs me and tells me how cute I am. It’s more work to behavelovingly toward the same child who uses straws as drum sticks to pound out atune on my rear end as I’m ordering lunch at the Chic-Fil-A counter.

My daughter can be the most caring, precious child thereever was, but when her mood changes, well let’s just say we all hunker down with pillows over our heads and wait for the tornado to pass. Sometimes I think she has anevil twin, and we just never see the two girls at the same time. Every mom hasto deal with times when our little ones are completely unlikeable.

It took a stranger to remind me that even in the most uglymoments of childhood, our kids never stop being precious to us. He was next tous at the soda fountain when my oldest tried to get a caffeinateddrink without my blessing. When my child begged and said he didn’t understandwhy he couldn’t have it, my quick, frustrated explanation was, “because I don’t likeyou when you’re hyped up on caffeine.” The man gave us a look that was bothamused by my response but somewhat disturbed. I quickly amended my statementand told my son, “I love you all the time, but I don’t enjoy your presence oncaffeine.” While he knows nothing he does will ever quash my love for him, hisbehavior doesn’t always delight me.

On the other hand, when you’ve struggled to get a child to learna new skill until you’re both quite frustrated, and he suddenly GETS it, thepride that floods a mama’s heart is immeasurable. The child who screams at youfor taking off her training wheels when she falls off her two-wheeler willeagerly show off her new skills when she sees your excitement as you run alongside her, encouraging her and bolstering her confidence.

I think it’s ok if you don’t like your kids allthe time. Don’t feel guilty for wanting to toss them at the first non-strangeryou see and make a run for it. In a few minutes they’ll do something wonderfulagain, and all the aggravation of being a mom will melt in their kisses andhugs. Those sweet times refuel us until the next time our behinds becomemusical instruments in public. 

What Color Is Your Thumb?

My only professional job was at a research greenhouse developing insect-resistant crops for agriculture. I was hired because I had a degree in biology and chemistry and because I was the only applicant. Also, I may have left off of my application the insignificant fact that every green thing I touched died a slow and painful death. My mom gave me a ficus tree for my college apartment, and when I moved home, I left all of my belongings in the car to go hang out with friends. That would have been fine if the temperature had been above freezing, but it wasn’t, and my sweet little tree did not survive its two hours of winter neglect in my car. Word got around in the plant kingdom, and I would swear that all my future house plants knew the ficus’ tale and killed themselves instead of waiting for the measured torture they were sure to endure.

The worst testament to my cursed brown thumb was following the death of Brent’s mother. People sent enormous baskets of peace lilies, ivy, and countless flowers. I never meant to hurt them, but one by one, they all suffered the same fate as their predecessors. When you’re mourning the loss of a loved one, the dead plant that was sent as a memorial to the person’s life really offers little comfort. Now when you come to my home, you will notice beautiful artificial plants basking in the direct sunlight.

In spite of my record, I excelled at my job in the greenhouse and succeeded in producing unbelievably lush cotton and tomato plants. My newfound confidence with growing things led me to believe I could have a beautiful garden at home as well. I carefully cultivated my beds and spent a small fortune on baby plants only to have the dog rip them up to chew on the roots and the toddler bring me tiny green tomatoes off the vine. After 8 years of gardening at home, I collected enough cherry tomatoes for a salad only once.

Perhaps the next time one of my children bring a sprouting bean plant home from school, I should go directly to the garden center and purchase a greenhouse of my own. Apparently that’s the only way I am meant to halt the curse of the ficus and garden successfully.  I’m very thankful I have the means to purchase healthy vegetables for my family in lieu of growing them, but more importantly, I’m so thankful that God grows beauty out of dust everywhere, even in west Texas. 

Had to Check You Tube Just to Be Sure...

This was my facebook status yesterday: "Ever have one of those days you just pray you don't end up on you tube? Thankful all the neighbors had already left for work when I fell in the dumpster. Also glad I didn't break a bone b/c going to the ER would have embarrassed Brent too." I thought I might elaborate on my good fortune in order to entertain and make others feel better about themselves.

I got up feeling industrious yesterday morning. As soon as the kids were off to school, I decided instead of running as I had intended, I would weed eat and rake the back yard. This is not a job I covet. In fact, the weed eater is my mortal enemy, but I was so tired of all the weeds that I willingly waged war with the evil weed whacker. (I apologize for the accidental absurd alliteration)  

Since I was already dressed to work out, I simply added a sun hat and protective footwear. That was my first wrong turn. Picture it: spandex capris, polar fleece top, J Lo floppy hat, and hiking boots with long socks. It wasn't pretty. Pretty funny maybe, but there were no witnesses, so I didn't really care. It wasn't long though until I had to take the tree limb I had cut (and let fall on my head because the floppy hat was blocking my field of vision) and the full trash barrel of debris to the dumpster. I should include that all the driveways and garages are in the alleys in our neighborhood.  I struggled to hoist the barrel over the side of the dumpster, and it instantly fell straight to the bottom with a sickening thud. When I want to throw out one little bag of garbage on dumpster truck day, the bin too full, and the truck is running behind, but the one day I do the yard work, the truck has come a day early, and there's not one thing to keep the trash barrel buoyed within my reach when it falls in. 

So I climbed up the side of the dumpster and leaned over as far as I could to reach the barrel. My biggest fear was that at any moment a neighbor would drive by and see me in my fancy duds with my rear end pointed skyward. I should have been more concerned about the effect of gravity on my upper body leaning so far over because the rest is facebook history. After I scrambled out with my big ol' barrel in tow, I started thinking about what I would have done if I'd gotten hurt falling in. Naturally I would have called my husband the hospital exec to have the ER expect my arrival. He would have loved that! There are just no words to say in response to a woman in a floppy hat, hiking boots, and fitness gear covered in grass explaining her dumpster-diving accident. So glad we dodged that bullet! He's a lucky man...in more ways than one. 

I'm Changing My Name to Superwoman

You know the saying "that which doesn't kill you makes you stronger?" Yeah well, I am getting some serious muscles! Every day I do things that are unpleasant and difficult. Today it has been catching up on laundry and a sewing project that I refuse to let kick my butt. Friday it was clean up vomit. Saturday it was...well I guess Saturday was ok. Yesterday it was stand in front of a large group of teens and adults and talk about a painful piece of my past. I'd rather have cleaned vomit again.
The truth is, I have a very blessed life. I always have, but there were some years that were marked by heartache and some things that I really don't like to remember. My prayer is that in talking openly about what I overcame, someone who hears it will be encouraged to persevere in their own circumstances. Maybe one of those kids are dealing with their own painful situation and can look at me and think, "Huh, if that lady went through all of her stuff and moved on to have a good life in a great pair of heels [well that's what I'd be thinking], then surely I can hang on long enough to see what God has waiting for me."
If we aren't changed for the better by the bad stuff we walk through, and if we can't help other people because of it, then we just let the bad stuff engulf us. I was reluctant to speak yesterday because I was afraid people would be shocked or pity me. I also would rather focus on the fun things in my present than the ugly things in my past. However, when I felt compelled to share some facts with a smaller group who in turn asked me to speak in greater detail to the large group, I knew God was showing me a way to use my pain to glorify Him and help others. That alone is better healing than years of therapy (which I didn't have) could have ever been!
I encourage anyone reading this to see blessing in your pain. Find a way to help someone else and focus on how God moves you out of the dark times and back into His glorious light! When you feel weakened by your circumstance, remember that God will make you strong again. He will make something good out of it if you let Him. Sometimes I wish I could go back in time and change so many things, but it's wasteful to regret. I am strong today because of the struggles I overcame, and I will pass that strength on to my kids and others through my testimony of faith and God's protection and mercy in my life. It's good to be strong!
And now that I've given myself a mental pep talk, I am ready to show my sewing machine who's boss.

My Name is Stephanie and I am an Addict

I have openly admitted my shoe addiction before. It hasn't really gotten worse, but it certainly hasn't improved. My taste in shoes has though, and therefore my obsession is more costly than it once was. Today though I am at peace with that little problem. Perhaps because I bought a beautiful pair of brown knee high boots today, so the beast within is satiated for the time being. The hubby's beast is raging. It hates my shoe shopping. Oh well.
The reason for my therapeutic confession today is to get it off my chest that I'm addicted to crafting. I was a Hobby Lobby regular long before Pintrest, but now...well now let's just say I'm really thankful for the ability to print out coupons and scope out the half priced deals before I go in the store. I try to plan my weekly crafting "needs" accordingly in advance. I also force myself to avoid Pintrest as much as possible when I already have projects in the works as to avoid going broke.
My latest feats? Making hair bows is the ongoing addiction. I started making them for my daughter, and in the last couple of months it has blossomed (or festered, depending on the day and condition of my house) into a small business.

So that's been fun. It feeds my demon and keeps me too busy to snack mindlessly, so I'm ok with that.
Then my lovely friend who is a fan of my bows suggested that I could help her make Angry Bird costumes for her kids for Halloween. That was REALLY fun because she did all the dirty work. She tracked down instructions, bought all the supplies, and measured the children. All I had to do was sew it all together and admire the cuteness.

Here is my youngest in his own Halloween costume modeling the Angry Speedy Bird. Spiderman never looked so adorable. There will be a couple more Angry Bird projects in the coming weeks, and I hope they're as cute!
But now that enabler called Pintrest has gone and gotten me in the Christmas spirit, and I have had to add a few more things to my craft list!

 I don't  know if the madness will end because my brain can't even stop mentally crafting once I walk away from the physical act. My fingers have perpetual blisters from the glue gun, and I've been sporting white paint on my foot for three days that won't wash off in the shower.

You know how drug addicts will often trade one addiction for another? The lesser of two evils I suppose. Well I may have to give up one of my addictions or focus all of my energy on one instead of spreading it out over multiple habits. I might be willing to stop crafting (for the good of the family) if I could focus in more heavily on shoes. The King Prime doesn't approve of my shoe shopping, but he should know that my last trip to Hobby Lobby cost more than the boots I bought today. Between the bows, the birds, and the Christmas cuteness, I may be halfway to a pair of Jimmy Choos. I'm posting a picture of the exact pair just in case he wants to follow along with this treatment plan.

Once Bitten Twice Shy...and I'm not talking about vampires

This morning the deejays on my radio station were talking about their home improvement disasters and asking people to post their own DIYs gone wrong on Facebook. I was driving at the time, but naturally I didn't want to be left out of the conversation, so I wrote about my husband's and my latest dishwasher installation that included me having to go to the store with a wet behind and getting my head stuck between the cabinet and the dishwasher. You can view the details on that little adventure on my march 21, 2011blog post. What I didn't mention on the radio station's fb page was another little mishap I had while changing a toilet seat. 

I must preface my tale with a confession. I have an abnormal fear of snakes being in the toilet. So far the scariest things I've ever found in the toilet (besides what it's made for) have been a pair of glasses, a toothbrush, and an entire roll of toilet paper, which incidentally soaked up all the water in the bowl! Thank you children. Yet, I occasionally convince myself that there will be a 3 foot boa waiting to lunge out as soon as I open the lid. Now picture a pregnant woman waddling into the bathroom first thing in the morning and sitting down only to feel a sharp stinging pain on the edge of her tush. That'd be me-the one with Snake-in-the-pot-aphobia. I screamed and jumped right off the toilet trying my hardest not to go into full labor as I saw that the snake bite I had received was merely a pinch from a crack all the way through the seat. My groggy husband said, "oh, I broke the toilet seat last night." Information I would have found more helpful about 8 seconds sooner!

That evening I bleached the entire bathroom in just my underwear so as not to get bleach spots on my clothes. Not that it would have mattered if my maternity clothes had bleach anywhere below the belly because I certainly wouldn't have been able to see it. Once the bathroom was clean enough to lay down on the floor, I set about replacing the broken seat. It turned out to be a much more difficult task than I ever imagined because the bolts were rusted to the nuts so severely that they wouldn't budge. I had to wedge myself into the narrow space between the wall and the toilet to get a better angle to saw the bolts off. By the way, pregnant women should avoid wedging themselves into anything! Yes, I was stuck. I decided to finish the job before claustrophobia set in and reassured myself that at any given moment my husband surely could pull me out. I asked that man who pledged to love and cherish me until death to hand me a tool since I was in no position to get it myself. He left the room, and when I heard him return, I put my hand out to receive the tool. No tool touched my hand, but soon I heard the snap of the camera. 

Eventually I did get the old seat off, and the man to whom I am miraculously still married did pull me out from behind that ridiculous-albeit sparkling clean-crawl space. I even managed to delete the picture off the camera before it came back to bite me on the rear much in the same way the toilet seat had that morning. 

I have also vowed to never let the bolts get rusty on another toilet again. You know, just in case. 

I haven't stopped blogging. I will have plenty to talk about as long as I have kids living in the house I think, but I have more or less switched forums. Skirt Magazine has let me be a "skirtsetter" on its website, and I have been posting my latest stories about my nutty family on there. You can check them out at www.skirt.com/stephpaigek