MmMmTasty

The Space Between

Many years ago when I started this blog, I originally called it "The Space Between."  It was envisioned to be the space between who I was as a Mama and who I was as a 'me.'  Instead, it became a space that reflected almost purely the Mama-side of me.  For lots of reasons, that side of me is subsiding and the old me is lunging forward.  Who knows what this will mean for the mama-side of me.  It still presses forward, wanting to blog here with snapshots of growing children, sad that my thoughts and days no longer rest only upon them.  But, for so long I have only managed to be one or the other.  I hope to figure out a way to exist in the space between.  Early on in the journey of mothering these three, I knew this was for the best.  I just need to remember that instinct as I move out of the world of black and white, into the grey - the space between.

{This Moment}

What I learned about myself today

I learned that I can handle spending a weekend treating the girls for lice with hard core toxic chemicals, when I know Lilly has a b-day sleepover a week later at her declared BFF's house.

I can also handle realizing two days after the slumber party that she really has head lice, despite the treatment, AND I have to spend my Sunday retreating hair, stripping and washing everything, and calling each mom to let them know.

I can even handle having my husband comb through my hair and finding bugs (barely).

What I can't handle is rechecking my hair, slick with oil, all alone upstairs AND trying to pretend like I'm not in the least bit phased.   I especially can't handle, in that moment, seeing that my four year old has found the scissors I use to trim her brother's hair, AND used them to cut open a squeeze yogurt, leaving them on my bathroom counter.  Because in that split second, I grab them and I grab a clump of hair, and I start cutting.

I CUT and I CUT, until I feel just the littlest bit of breathing room to handle the rest of the day.

Today, I learned once again that when it comes to motherhood, the only way to survive, is to surrender to the moment, look at your free hair cut, and realize you are capable of much more than you gave yourself credit for.

Well that, and head lice is a bitch and a half.

Two

At two, you:

• Give kisses by putting your cheek against mine
• Say balalalana instead of banana
• Talk in full sentences, "More jelly please"
• Keep your new battery-operated Percy train going non-stop on your new train table- if someone turns it off, you jump up from wherever you are and race to the table and turn him back on
• Squeal with delight whenever you see a 'ga-ga" or what the rest of us call a dog
• Want to wake your sisters, Care-Care and Iyee, up every morning by climbing in their bed and hugging them until they wake up, after you have been brought into bed with Mama and Dada for 'cuddles'
• Throw a ball left handed across the room like a rocket 
• Scream 'fy car, fy car!" when you see Harry Potter Legos Wii game

Rewind :: Ode to a First Grade Teacher

Sizzles' first grade teacher was one of the many daily gifts for us, this past year.  When I sat down in a tiny desk on orientation day I wondered how well of a fit she would be for our family.  Afterall, the thing I remembered most from her greeting was, "Do not rescue your children.  If they forget their lunch, do not hop in the car and bring it to them.  They will be fine. We won't let them starve.  Help them, but do not do things for them.  Besides, you already went through first grade."  

If it weren't for the streams of older girls coming by to hug Mrs. Jones, reporting the teacher they were assigned for 3rd or 5th grade, I would have been wringing my hands.

Of course, our first parent/teacher conference gave me a glimpse into how special my daughter's relationship with her would become.  

"Your daughter is AMAZING!" she gushed.  While Brian and I sat dumbfounded, Mrs. Jones proceeded to eagerly show us little stories Sizzles had written for her, or drawings done on scrap paper that Mrs. Jones had rescued.  

I think somewhere along the way of hanging with other moms, I had trained myself to tone down my praise of Sizzles, to try and point out her imperfections, so other moms wouldn't see me as a braggart or be threatened by Sizzles' emerging talents. Thankfully, in that 30 minutes of talking to Mrs. Jones last fall, I got my wake up call.  It was like I got permission to see my daughter in all her glory.  

This teacher played a huge role in encouraging Sizzles' to audition for Annie, telling her she was a little star and asking classroom visitors to stay a moment and listen to a song.  As a result, other little girls got into the action and four girls decided to audition too.  

Mrs. Jones came to opening night and brought a little gift for my girl, with a note that still hangs on our refrigerator - 

My daughter will  be joining that line for hugs from Mrs. Jones this coming orientation day.  

So will I.

 

The Beach

Well, if strawberry picking helps burn-out, then the beach heals it.  Despite Porkchop developing a summer cold and crying a good majority of yesterday, we are in our yearly beach bliss.  

• A front porch with two swings
• A crow's nest for watching Memorial Day fire works
• The Sugar Shack
• Bud and Alley's Taco Bar
• Illy coffee
• Homemade cinnamon buns
• Making formula from water and rocks
• Rented bikes, this year including bikes for the girls
• Fried or steamed shrimp baskets
• Oscilating between the beach and the pool

Oh yes, burn-out has been banished.  

Strawberry Picking or How to escape burn-out

I read once that if you are experiencing burn-out as a mother, the way out was to spend more time with your children.  BUT, you release everything else.  This other mother (of ten) suggested that burn-out was not really about your children being needy little beasts (okay she didn't call them needy little beasts) but that it was about the exhaustion that comes from having to choose between your children and ALL the other stuff (laundry, work, social commitments, cooking, cleaning, LAUNDRY).  

It was the dumbest thing I had ever read.  

Except, that I was fairly certain it was true.  

So.

Despite threat of rain and closure of the 45-minute far strawberry farm, we loaded the kids and headed out anyway, in the face of all reason.  

Of course, it was fantastic.

 

And then along came Turtle

I won't lie, the last week and a half has been a challenge.  

The two little kids have been driving me bananas.  The kind of bananas that made me say, "If I found out I was pregnant today, I think I would cry."  

I have felt burn-out creeping in, the water rising fast.  I have tried to stay calm as the liquid caps my knees, figuring that seven years is a long time to be spending day in and day out changing diapers and wiping noses.  Three children in five years is not a mountain easily scaled.  There are boundless joys, but dear reader, it is no secret that if the parent fails to refuel themselves along the way, they will run out of gas no matter how deep the love of those children, no matter how joyous the majority of days have been.

This is where I have been living, and I suspect it has been creeping in and out of my mind long before I noticed its presence - kind of like this gal.

 

I walked down the stairs of the deck, to capture a moment alone yesterday, to lower my shoulders, take a breath.  There she was on the ground.  She must have been here all along.  She is too big to fit through the slats of the wooden fence.  I suppose our yard is rich with Eastern Box Turtle-habitat possibilities.  

Claire and I fed her bananas.  She ate three helpings.  

We made her a house out of an overturned empty blue planter.

We observed her and looked for her when she vanished.  We found her once in our hosta-forest.  She is gone again.  But now, we know she lives just outside the house, and now we know to look for her.

{this moment}

{this moment} - A Friday ritual over at SouleMama. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

Please don't stand on Daddy's kidney

Somehow getting Porkchop ready for bed has drifted from the telling of a story, to sibling body surfing contestants at the expense of Brian.  When the squeals reach a fevered pitch I come in, wag my finger, and tell everyone to climb off Dada.  Not surprisingly, tonight there was a head-butt to someone's eye and the Strawberry Shortcake icepack had to come out.  

I have no doubt that Brian thinks it is a small price to pay, in order to drift off for a few minutes after a day of work, followed by entertaining of the troops, while I prepare dinner.

 Clearly, parenting is a full-contact sport.