Anniversary of an Oops

Today is the anniversary of the first time I messed up at motherhood.  It was a cold Thursday afternoon, nine years ago, and I was pregnant with my first child.  I worked as a high school teacher and it was my final day before my maternity leave started.  I was very pregnant, swollen, and insanely excited to meet my daughter the next Monday.

I waddled to the parking lot and cried on the way home.  I was so incredibly happy.  When I pulled onto our street I saw my husband's truck.  He was also taking the next day and following week off to be home with me and our new bundle of Goose.  I parked the car in the garage and opened the door to the house.

He was standing there with his hands on his head.  I said, "Hi."  He said, "We missed the appointment!"  I said, "What appointment?"  He told me the hospital had called and was looking for me because I was scheduled for a c-section at 8 a.m. and had never shown up.  The nurse told him they called the house repeatedly that day but no one answered.  Then they called the doctor's office who suggested I was at work.  The nurse told my husband to tell me to please call the hospital at my earliest convenience.

Wait.  What?  I missed my first real date with motherhood?  How can that be?

I called the nurse back and she said, "Did you know you were supposed to have your baby today?"  I said, "No, I'm supposed to have my baby Monday.  My husband and I have the whole weekend planned for just 'me time' things like going to the movies and sleeping."  She said, "We called you all day and then we called the doctor's office and they said you were at work!"  I said, "Yes, that's where I was." She replied,  "How early can you be here tomorrow?"  I said, "You tell me."  She said, "8 a.m, don't eat after midnight and nothing in the morning."  I hung up the phone and my stomach flipped.  Tomorrow.  I turned to my husband and said, "Looks like we're having her tomorrow."

Turns out my OB/GYN told me February 19 but told the hospital February 15.  Hello?  My husband asked, "Well what should we do?"  I replied, "Portillos."  We went, barely spoke to each other as we processed the new turn of events, but occasionally laughed at what dummies we looked like.  Who misses their c-section?

When the world of motherhood starts on an oops, you have no where to go but up!  I look back at the nine years of getting to know this incredible Goose of a girl and I think - wait, what day was she born again?  I basically have a mental celebration of her life from February 15 through February 19.  The week of the Goose.  

Worry Wart

I was never a worrier until I had the Goose - I was calm.  Upon conception life is forever altered because it isn't just me anymore.  I remember when I was pregnant with the Goose I went to the fire station to have the car seat properly fit.  In my twenties I'd seen a movie that terrified me; it was the opening scene of Dead Calm (1989), with Nicole Kidman, she was driving, hit the brakes, and her daughter flew out the front window of the car.  That is how a mother's mind works:  I once saw that movie, I was pregnant, and then I began to worry about my own child's car safety.  When it comes to my children, my thoughts and worries aren't tied together in pretty, neat packages.  It is more like a pin ball game - my mind races from here to there, back there, over there, up there, and around to the start again.  Then just when I've decided on a position, relaxed around an idea, and the ball is settled - BOING!  Off it goes again - spinning thoughts that swirl, race, and spin.  

All that crazy mom mind applies to everything.  I over think the weekly meal plan, the work call I'm about to make, the work call I just made, the training session I am heading to, the training session I just left, the class plan for Monday, the schedule for the children, the birthday party plan, what to serve for the Super bowl, the entire day.  If I let it - thinking about the action of every day would consume me.  The thinking would take control and lead to inaction.

How do I quiet this storm?  Simple. I pray.  I practice a daily habit of reading Jesus Calling and having a little quiet talk with God to start my day.  I have to give him my worries and pin-ball thinking so that I can take the day by storm, with patience, and calm.  My kids know where to find me when they wake up in the morning, they come down one by one and climb onto my chair.  I know I'm not alone in how I handle and manage motherhood.  I also journal about my thoughts and the things I'm thankful for to keep my mind in a positive place.

My daughter, however, is a worry wart.  She can work herself into sickness with worry.  She and I talk very often about what to do with the worry of life.  For the past week she has worried about her loose tooth. Two nights ago she was in a panic about swallowing the tooth in her sleep.  We joked about pulling the tooth, as parents do, even though I have no intention of ever doing it.  My mantra for the past week has been: "The fact is the tooth will come out on it's own.  That is what teeth are designed to do.  Have you ever seen an adult with their baby teeth?  Huge mouth and tiny teeth? Nope."  I encouraged her to give the worry away.  She told me she doesn't understand what I mean when I say that.  I told her it's a simple practice - when the worried thoughts creep into your mind interrupt them with your inner voice and ask God to take them.

This morning she went to the bathroom before breakfast and she screamed at us, "MOM DAD THE TOOTH JUST CAME OUT!"  She ran into the kitchen and she said, "it just came out and it didn't even hurt!"  That's what I said would happen from the start, I told you so.You should listen to your mother more often and forever.  We put the tooth in a baggie and she placed it under her pillow so we're all set for tonight. All that worry - for nothing!  

When I think about the life she will live and the worry she will have --- I worry.  It is so big and heavy to worry about the kids.  It can be crushing.  It can send me into a tail spin.  I fear that her nature to worry will create agony and anguish.  I can't help her every time.  I can't ease her worry.  But I can teach her how to cope with worry and anxiety.  I can guide her in a positive direction to handle and manage her spinning mind. Modeling the tools that work for me to cope with worry is the first step to help her; I pray it works!


 

I Want My Mommy!

I just put the kids to bed.  One was crying  because he chose to stay up past the book reading time.  "If you want me to read to you, we have to go to bed now."  Nope.  So I stepped out of his room to his sister's and he started, "I want my mommy! I want my mommy!"  I kissed the sister goodnight and said, "I am needed in the other room."  It is one of the great, incredible, and heart-warming parts of motherhood - to simply be the solution just by being the mommy.  Nightmares? Mommy.  Tummy ache? Mommy.  I cannot control much, I cannot even come close to fixing everything - but there are a few things that I fix just because I'm Mom.

I went into his room and sat on the edge of his bed.  He crawled into my lap and sobbed.  "Mommmmmyyyyy."  I said, "I understand how you feel.  Sometimes, even at 39 years old, I still want my mommy."  He said, "You do?"  I said, "Yes, I do.  Do you know the last time I wanted my mommy?"  He said, "No." I said, "Yesterday.  Would you like to hear this story?"

Yesterday, you took a nap in my office on the little blue and white chair while I was working.  Do you know the chair? The little white chair with blue stripes.  That chair was my Nana's chair and I've had it in our office since she died, 9 years ago.  She was a wonderful Nana, and I loved her very much. When she died I got a lot of her stuff and that chair is very special to me.  

You slept on the chair for a long time while I worked.  When you woke up you were cold.  There was one of our blankets on the chair and I wrapped you in it.  The blanket had been draped over that chair for a few months.  When I was done working, I said "OK, let's go up!"  You said, "Mom, carry me?"  I said, "Of course."  You stood up, I wrapped you up like a burrito in the blanket and picked you up.  I gave you a big hug and I smelled you.  It was unusual because all wrapped up in the blanket that had been on my Nana's chair - you smelled just like Nana's house - nine years later.  It struck me.  I was amazed.

And so right then, I wanted my mommy.  I wanted to tell her, "you can't believe what just happened!"  So we walked up the stairs to the kitchen and my phone rang.  And do you know who it was?  My mommy.  It was like she knew.

So you see, whether you are a little peanut or a full grown mommy like me - you will always want your mommy, and somehow I'll know, just like my mama knows.

#icarryitinmyheart

Sorry, what was that?

My youngest, the Happy Critter, is a messy eater.  Whatever he eats ends up on his face.  After his daily breakfast of Eggos and Jimmy Dean turkey sausage he undoubtedly has syrup dripping down his belly, up his nose, and on his cheek.  When he gets dressed we usually wipe him down with a wash cloth or wet wipe.  

Last week he went upstairs after eating and I cleaned the kitchen table before getting him ready for the day. He had some time to mess around before I got to him.  He played in his sister's room, then in his, minding his own business.  I went upstairs after fifteen minutes or so and said, "OK, kiddo, lets get you ready for the day!"  He had syrup all over himself.  I grabbed the bag of wet wipes and started on his belly.  Then the following conversation transpired:

Me: OK, hold still, I need to wipe your face off.

Him: No! Mom! I have crapshit on.

Me: Sorry, what was that?

Him: Crapshit.  I have crapshit on my lips.

Me: All the more reason to wipe your face off.

Him: NO MOM! I HAVE SISSY'S CRAPSHIT on.  You can't wipe it off.

Me: You have your sister's crapshit on your face?

Him: No, it's pink crapshit.  (At this point he rubbed his lips together.)

Me: Oh! Are you saying Chap Stick?

Him: Yes, crapshit.  It's fruity!

Delivery.

My family had our first ever group photo taken.  17 people in white and blue, plus one red.  It was a perfect evening, with the exceptional sun dropping into night.  Afterward the whole clan came back to my house for dinner.  I tossed some apps on the table and then snuck into the office and ordered pizza for delivery.  Four 18" pizzas, ready in 45-60 minutes.  I thought better of the delivery timing after I hung up; so called back to tell them I would pick it up.

My sister drove me to the pizza place.  I hopped out of the car to get the food.  I entered and the girl at the front desk asked, "Can I help you?"  I said, "Yes, I'd like to pick up my order for Mel" She typed at the computer bee.boo.bah.boo.bee.bo.  No order for Mel.  She said, "What is your phone number?"  She typed again at the computer bee.boo.bah.boo.bee.bo.  No order for that number.  I said, "Remember, I called it in for delivery and then called right back and changed my mind to pick up?"  She looked at me as if I had three eyeballs.  She said, "Let me ask Roy if he took your order."  I knew he hadn't because I spoke to a girl.  She stepped into the kitchen and spoke with Roy and another girl.  Maybe it was that girl.  I was starting to panic; 15 hungry people were waiting at my house for pizza that hadn't even been made yet because these idiots confused my order in the order taking process.  I thought, "Don't get mad. It'll be fine."

Roy and the girl returned and he asked, "So you ordered for delivery but now you are here and want it for pick up?"  I said, "No, I called the order in for delivery but then called right back and said I wanted to pick it up so it would be faster."  He said, "What is your name?"  He typed, Mel.  No order for her.  He tried my phone number.  No order for that.  He said, "Ok... well. We do not have your order...so..."

I said, "That can't be! I ordered four 18" pizzas, one with cheese, one with..." The girl interrupted me.  She said, "Wait. What did you say you ordered?" I repeated, "F.O.U.R. 18" PIZZAS."  She smiled, "Ok, well you should go next door to FRANCO'S PIZZA.  This is Hong Kong Cuisine."

So I'm the idiot.  

Over my tears of hysterical laughter, the kind girl at the counter at Franco's Pizza asked, "Are you ok?"  I replied, "Yes, the Chinese spot next door didn't have my pizzas."  She chuckled and said, "That happens all the time..."  No it doesn't, but thanks.  I had just gotten myself together when a strong brut of a guy appeared carrying four very large pizza boxes my way.  I said, "Oh THANK YOU!"  I went to grab them from him and he said, "No, I'll help you carry them out."

I pointed to my sister's car, still grinning ear to ear and then opened the back seat door for him.  He stepped one foot off the sidewalk and bent forward to place the pizza in the car.  Then he farted.  Then I looked at his butt because he had just farted and I was in absolute disbelief that this pizza pick-up was going soooo terribly wrong.  It only made it worse to look at the butt that had just farted - because his pants weren't well fitted and his hairy butt crack appeared below his shirt tail.

You see.  It's like this: delivery.  Just get delivery.