i've decided to make a decision

For weeks now I've been lamenting the fact that I can never find the time to do what I want to do. Every hour seems to be swallowed up by something more pressing than the "maybe if I have times" on my to do list. I've been putting off exercising, decorating, organizing, blogging and a hundred other little things because I can never find the time.

Then I gave myself a giant mental slap upside the head. What have I been thinking? Things I wanted to do weren't getting done because I've become too lazy to do them; content to keep doing the same things I'd been doing. I've been using the excuse that Penelope just wears me out during the day and that when she's finally down for bed all I have the energy to do is watch reruns of Psych until it's time for bed.

Well, I call Bullshit!

If I want to get something done, I should get up off my lazy butt and do it. The marked lack of motivation has been killing me but I'm not going to let it crawl inside my brain any longer. I have 4 nights a week where I'm free to do whatever I want to do. The daytime will be solely reserved for playing with Penny. Nap time will be for routine chores like laundry and dishes. When Jason's working, after 5pm will no longer be just a wasteland of couch-potatoing (yes, I just made that word up) and laziness. I have things I want to do and I'll be damned if I'm not going to do them!

This picture has nothing to do with my goal-oriented decision making. I just love the expression on her face.

after the tears

Tonight I yelled at Penny. A full-out, cup-slamming yell. She was cranky because of a molar coming in. I was frustrated because she was cranky. She froze in her seat and just stared, the sweet potatoes still squeezing through her hands as she finger-painted her tray. I put some more food in front of her then went to my room and cried.

The woe-is-me lasted a few minutes as I lamented all the things I get left with. Seven days a week I'm at home with the baby. I don't have any social life to speak of. The only adult conversations I have are with the check-out people. My day consists of cleaning up one mess after another, making four different lunches with Penny only eating a bite of each and then cleaning them up. I clean up toys, I clean up dishes, I clean up laundry. And yet, ironically, most days I never get around to cleaning up myself. And so I cried. I blamed Jason, my family and all my friends who choose to live in other states and aren't here to commiserate with me. I blamed myself for not being better.

And then I remembered. I chose this. I made the decision to be a stay at home mom.

So I took a deep breath, wiped my face and went to give my daughter a big sweet potato filled hug. And apologize even though she doesn't understand why I was upset. I don't want her to ever think I don't love her. Or that I regret being at home. Because I don't. And if I had to make that same decision a million times over I would always choose her.

harried holidays

I love the holiday season. The lights, the food, the music, the family. The food. From the middle of November until the beginning of January there is just so much joy to be had. 

Unless you're anywhere near a mall or store. Then it's nothing but hurry up and wait. 

Yes, everyone is trying extra hard to be extra nice but when all I need is a gallon of milk and some desperately needed Diet Mt. Dew, the last thing I want is to stand for half an hour in line while the woman in front of me buys presents for every single member of her family. "Running to the store" any time from now until Christmas will involve a prepared game plan. Which entrance to park at. Which aisle to hit up first and which to avoid like the plague. A detailed list so I'm not wandering around the store searching. In and out. That's it. If only it were that simple. 

At least for me it will be. A few years ago I chose to ban any gratuitous brick and mortar shopping. Unless something is specifically in-store only, the extent of my shopping is done online. The internet super highway is much less crowded than the real highway. And most importantly, my sanity is worth more than the cost of shipping. 

So until the last Christmas song is played I will be avoiding any unnecessary frustration. If milk is needed, well, that's what Jason is for.

12 months OR 1 whole year

Dear Penny Poop,

You did it! You made it through a whole year of life without any major mishaps, injuries or critical threats of life. And since I'm such a klutz, that makes me so proud.

The day after your birthday I turned to your daddy and asked him who this little girl was tearing through the living room at full speed. What happened to our mushy slobber-filled baby and when did she get so tall? And smart? I'm already noticing how you've stopped looking like an infant and instead are getting your toddler face. You're all gopher teeth and smiles and love bites and slobbers.

The first few months of your life were some of the hardest I've ever had to face. Emotionally and physically. Days without more than a few hours of sleep combined with the wrong combination of medications left me feeling like you were going to be awake forever. FOR-EV-ER. But then you began sleeping through the night and a light could be seen at the end of the tunnel. Then not just a light, but flowers and music and jig-dancing leprechauns.

This past year with you in our lives has been the most wonderful I've ever know. And I know I'll say it next year, too, but it'll be true then as it is now. You fit perfectly into our lives and make us a family. I love you.

Love,

Mama

we all fall down

Yeah, it wasn't how I intended to spend my Sunday morning. Visits to the ER should never interrupt church and visits with the family. But that's where I ended up, propped up on a gurney, waiting for x-rays of my foot.

I'm not inclined to gracefulness as a rule but sometimes the clumsy just pours out in waves. Luckily, Audrey and Kevin were visiting and had decided to go to church with me. I was carrying Penny, the diaper bag, trying to lock the door and step into the garage all at the same time. While wearing 3 inch heels. Can you see where I'm going with this? A small stumble on the door frame and down I went, feeling the snap and crackle in my right foot as I fell, not being able to brace myself lest I drop the baby onto concrete. Again, luckily, Penny wasn't hurt and after a quick comforting hug from Audrey she stopped crying. But there I was, flat on my back in the doorway, dress hiked up above my knees, trying to remain calm. Hysterics never help in these situations. So I breathed and tried to move. That was a no-go. So the three adults made a game plan. Jason was at work so we would call him and tell him to meet us at the hospital. Audrey would drive and Kevin would take the rental car and follow behind.

The plan was the easy part. It was getting into the car that made me want to throw up. Luckily times three, Kevin was there to literally pick me up when I was down. A bracing arm and some hopping (again in 3 inch heels) and we were on our way to the ER. A special thank you hug has to go out to my sister-in-law Audrey who kept me conscious and barf-free by joining me in singing The Battle Hymn of the Republic at full throttle. It worked, even though we couldn't remember all of the words.

Jason was there at the hospital when we pulled up and I don't know that I've ever been so happy to see him. The best part was he had come straight from work and was still in his police uniform. As we moved about to various rooms of the hospital he stayed by my bedside looking like an armed guard. Which hospital workers actually thought he was, even going so far as to ask me what I'd done. Then they noticed us holding hands. No, I'm not the most modestly dressed hooker in Utah. Just a clumsy housewife who shouldn't be allowed to wear heels.

X-rays, pain meds and an orthopedic surgeon later, I'm on the road to recovery. No surgery will be needed. It's a bad sprain and a small fracture from where the tendons pulled off a piece of bone. Yeah. Gross. Some sessions of physical therapy and an enormous walking boot (seriously, this thing weighs more than the cat!) should have me right as rain by Thanksgiving. I hope. And now I'm thinking I need to ask Santa for some ballet flats for Christmas.