sueeeus

How’s that for a title?

I had quite a bit more stuff written here, blah blah blah, but I think the title pretty much sums it  up.

a bit morbid, yet a bit brilliant, and a bit apropos as well

crazy

He says nobody makes him more crazy than I do.  I’m just being me, and not conforming to the version of me he wants or needs me to be.  He’s out there, alone in a house, by himself, without me by his side.  He’s aching.  He’s lonely.  He can’t stand to be alone.  It makes him crazy.  It baffles him that I don’t understand how he feels (he thinks I don’t understand).  It rips his heart up to know that I’m not going crazy with loneliness and separation.  He may think that I love him less because I’m not missing him.  But I’m going crazy on my own over here.  My own version of crazy.

He has only himself to keep up with.  When his work day is done, he can rest.  I have children to care for.  Every aspect of their precious little lives is critical to me, and right now, their emotional health is even more so.  I remember being four and feeling like I was in the way.  I remember being eight and feeling like I couldn’t do anything right.  I remember, and those feelings, whether valid or not, contributed to the adult I became, and all of the emotional struggles I’ve dealt with along the way.  I find myself starved for time, racing through each day trying to scrounge up enough to give them at least a little attention, trying to lovingly direct them and instruct them when they’re bouncing off the walls and the furniture.  Literally.  They are boisterous little boys, and it’s their unbridled joy at simply being that compels them to jump on the furniture and play and have fun.  While I want them to respect property, I want to somehow teach them without squelching or scarring them.  God grant me the wisdom and patience to do this.  Truth be told, though, inside I rejoice that my boys exhibit such glee.  In my heart I say, “GO AHEAD!  Jump! Play! Laugh! Rejoice!”  (Please don’t hurt yourselves or anything, and please be respectful of others’ things, but don’t stop rejoicing, my beautiful little boys.)

loves of my life

I am exhausted.  It takes a great deal of time and energy to lovingly, patiently and kindly see to it that the teeth get brushed, the clothes get changed, the schoolwork gets done, and the bodies get clean.  Life with my kids is my priority right now.  They need me.  I need them.  I absolutely need to take this time for them and with them.  I need this for them.  I need this for me.

It doesn’t mean I love him less than I did before.  It only means that I recognize now that far too often in the past year I’ve shuffled them aside in my endeavor to be a couple, and that is something that I should never have allowed myself to do, and something that I want to ensure does not happen again.

I’m going my own kind of crazy, wondering when and  how I will ever have a little time to myself so that I can at least try to collect my thoughts and calm the storm that is raging in my head.

How can you possibly be three, my beautiful little boy?

my littlest big boy

How can I describe how you fill my life and fill my heart?  You have a vigor that thrills me — the way you are full on, whichever extreme it may be.  When you are happy, joy bursts from you in waves.  When you are angry, frenzy bursts from you in waves.  There is no middle ground.  You are raw emotion and raw energy.  You are unfettered and pure, and how I delight to see you experience either joy or rage, because you do it with such purity.  You are beautiful, my little one.

I love the way you demand that I snuggle with you.  I love the way you giggle and laugh and the way your eyes sparkle with mirth and mischief when you try to play tricks on me.  I love your sense of humor!

Already you have a keen sense of justice, and simply won’t have it if you think your brother is not behaving as he should.

I love the way you express yourself.  I love the way you say please, thank you, and you’re welcome.  And the way you remind me to say ‘Bless You’ when you sneeze.

I love the way you try to do everything that your big brother does.  I love your strong sense of independence.

You are bursting with life, my little man.  Oh, how I love you, with a love I never imagined possible.

Happy Birthday.  A very happy birthday to  you.

Brutus, are you excited to go see your daddy for a whole week?

How long is a week?

A night and a day
..and a night and a day
….and a night and a day
……and a night and a day
……..and a night and a day
……….and a night and a day
…………and a night and a day

Mama? Will you cry when you drop us off?

I always cry when I drop you off, Sweetie Pie.

Mama?  Maybe you should go to the neighbor’s house or go to Valerie’s house or go to your friend’s house and hang out or do something fun when we’re gone so you won’t be so lonely.

Brutus, that is an excellent idea!!! [mother delightedly embraces child]

gentle brute

Ahhhhh, my little problem solver is showing a glimpse of maturity and consideration that makes me beam and tickles me pink.  I am rubbing off on him.  At least a little bit.  He is mine, this blonde haired blue eyed sweetheart of a boy.

hooray for the birthday boy

Today my BB turned six. He’s such a remarkable young man. He has spunk and attitude, and beneath that, a warm and tender heart.

He’s passionate and sensitive, stubborn, and independent.  He is very physical and very visual.  He likes sticks and stones and leaves and feathers; my little nature boy.

homework - what I did on holiday

He’ll spend  hours working on one page of homework, the results a scribbly mess –because he doesn’t want to do it, and then he’ll whip out a complex drawing in a matter of minutes.  I marvel at his artistic abilities.  He draws from memory, from some picture in his head.  I watched him draw the crabs and trees — he pulled them right out of his mind and put them on the paper.

crabs, coconuts, and sunset

He’s a dreamer, spinning visions of fantastical things with his active imagination.

My friend Sailor once told him that girls get everything they want, so the sooner he accepts that, the better off he will be.  Some people’s friends.  Months later, BB tells me he wants to be a girl, or a grownup.  Because girls get whatever they want, and because grownups get to make their own choices.

One day we were talking about brains and I mentioned that I’d heard that people who are very smart have more lines on their brains.  At school he heard that girls are smarter than boys, and boys are cooler than girls.  Again, he wants to be a girl so he can have more lines on his brain.

But Mama, I’m a boy, so I don’t have very many lines on my brain.

I assured him that there are many boys who are smarter than girls.

It’s thrilling to watch his life unfold, to see the person he has grown to be.  This little one came from me, is a part of me.  I want him to live a beautiful life.  I want him to be secure in the knowledge that he is wanted, treasured, and loved.

the best present ever

How I love this boy!

my precious

My two year old seems to be regressing from his staunch independence, lately, or else he is just honing his manipulation skills.  He’s been sick, off and on, for months.  Cold  upon cold upon cold.  They morph together.  Once in a while his temperature is elevated and he becomes quiet or fussy.  Mostly he goes on about his normal two year old business, full of energy, bouncing off the walls, following me around like a velcro shadow.

He’s become addicted to his binky.  Where it used to be a convenient plug to keep his mouth otherwise engaged, hence safe from all manner of frightening and not- meant- for- ingestion foreign objects that lurk about my household, it is now a full blown addiction.  He has a specific one that he wants, and the collection is stored on a particular shelf in the kitchen.  I encourage him to put it away on the shelf, so that he knows where it is when next  he wants it.  So far, this works well; he understands and complies!  Alas, and not surprisingly, the favorite binky didn’t return from  his last visit with his father, so after much wailing and gnashing of teeth, he resorted to the next favorite.  He calls it his ‘cody’ and throws a holy fit if I don’t have it with me when I pick him up from daycare.  I usually don’t give it to him, though.  I’m so stubborn, and I don’t like him having an addiction.  Such a mean mama, me.

Along with the binky, he is also suddenly attached to a certain (few) blanket(s).  Generally, there is a specific red one that he likes, but occasionally he alternates with a tan one.  Luckily, I have two tan and two red blankies with the same texture, so if/when one gets misplaced or put through the wash, there are others standing by to avert meltdowns and things of that nature.

If I attempt to use my phone or laptop, he physically slaps my hands away from the keys.  My child is yearning for more of my attention, clearly.  Such a controlling little one, my Tiger Beat.

An adorable opportunist, too.  He likes to play with the rice cooker, opening and closing the lid, over and over and over again.  He purposefully pretends to get his fingers caught then comes to me with fingers outstretched, earnest look on his face, begging for make- me- all- better kisses.

my little super man

Since he’s been sick, he’s been waking in the night and coming to find me.  Granted, he’s had some justifiably bad nights with fever and vomiting on one occasion in particular.  But it seems to be dragging on and becoming a nightly pattern that I’d very much like to nip in the bud (even though a part of me would love to snuggle my children close — the same part of me who would very much like to be cuddled close, made to feel safe, loved and protected, all the night long).  If my door is closed, he kneels outside it and cries, or he knocks and cries.  If my door is open, he wants to climb into bed with me.  I take him back to his room to try and settle him, but it seems like he tries to keep himself awake, watching me to make sure I don’t leave.  Last night (early this morning) he came to my room, crying, at 2:38 am.  I took him to his room, changed his diaper, and lay down with him to settle him.  I would rest for a while, then open my eyes to look at him, and there he’d be, his little eyes open, shining in the dark, peering at me.  He was still awake at 4:30 am, looking at me.  Around 5 am I went to my room, and put on my cpap mask.  Pitter patter, the sound of little feet.  I watched him look for me, first in the bathroom, then in the other bedroom, then in my room.  He climbed onto my bed (I let him) then complained about the mask and wouldn’t settle.  I removed the mask and tried to make him cozy and comfortable and he finally fell asleep around 5:30 am.  Of course, 6:30 am rolled around and I had to get up.  He followed.  He’s in surprisingly good spirits for a little guy who got very little sleep.  Me, not so much.  I went to bed around midnight, so two and a half hours plus one more just doesn’t cut it well for me.

What to do, what to do.

the loves of my life

a little bit of goth

• For the record, I’ve been sick since October 3rd.
• It’s beyond old.
• I’ve dragged the family in to see the doctor twice, and we have cascading colds.
• Tomorrow is flu shot day at work.  I almost think there’s not much point in bothering with it.
• I just had an apple so my ears hurt.  Cross reacting food allergies exacerbated by already hyperactive histamine.  Stupid.
• Stupid, stupid, stupid.
• Still coughing.
• Did I say stupid?
• Boo
• In other news, it was fun to play dress up for Halloween!
• LB was the cutest astronaut, and BB was a nicely dramatic scream.

trick or treat

• LB wasn’t so enthused about trick or treating until he realized he was given free rein to ring doorbells.
• The biggest drama?  Where did that blue binky go?  We’re down to the lone survivor from the emergency stash.
• Blogging by bullets.  Pathetic.

twilight

Tonight I wrote ‘Dear John’ letters to all my men, releasing them from my snare.  This meeting and dating business is too overwhelming for me.  I am a sequential person, when it comes to men, and this juggling of men is just exhausting.  I can’t do it.  I need to focus and re-focus then re-focus again on my little men, so that I can keep their interests front and center.

front and center

Front and center. They are my world. As they should be.

I’m too tired to write much.  It’s been an exhausting week.  An exhausting day.  I want to spend some time speaking of how amazing this little man is.  He’s a firecracker.  So passionate.  So full-on.  He’s an amazing little guy, my Tiger Beat.  But I’m just too tired.  Today.  So a handful of pictures will have to do.  Happy birthday, my sweet love.  You are the bestest.

tiger beat, you rock my world

you're my little ray of light

you're my littlest man

the loot – party favors

birthday goodies

confetti cupcakes

ready to roll

breakfast of champions

Where oh where are those four agreements when I need them?  Specifically, the one about not taking things personally.  I think I have a natural inclination to be impeccable with my word and to do my best, but when it comes to making assumptions and taking things personally, I stumble.  And stumble quickly.

I can only be accountable for my own feelings, and how I feel is a choice, so truly, I should never (or seldom) allow myself to feel hurt.  I need much more practice!  Or a frontal lobotomy.

I suppose I shouldn’t be so surprised or caught off guard when I am misunderstood.  Another person’s reception has much to do with their own reality and perceptions and predispositions, so it’s up to them to sort our their own agreements.  Yes, I can strive to be clear, but apart from that, what can I do?

Am I confused?  Of course!  Who isn’t?  Does anybody have all the answers in life?

I try very hard to do no harm, and I apply that philosophy to all living things.  I try, anyway.  My choices sometimes confound others.  I don’t have any desire to be vindictive or spiteful.  I won’t take advantage of some one or some thing, just because I can.

I seek harmony.  I seek peace.

At some point, I suppose I should learn how to better protect myself.  I’m not ready for a frontal lobotomy.  So I’ll just regroup, over and over and over again.  I know my intentions are innocent.  And that’s the extent of my responsibility.

Me.  What comes from me.  Therein is my accountability.

~*~*~*~

lizard tongues

Lizard Tongues!  I absolutely adore BB’s imagination!  He presented them to me on a tray.  Look!  Lizard tongues!  And he picked one up and blew the end to make it extend.  Priceless.

~*~*~*~

hearty bliss

It takes nearly an hour, but I am IN LOVE with steel cut oats!  The secret to their divinity is toasting them first in butter, then cooking them slowly in 1 part milk and 3 parts water to 1 part oats (and a dash of salt).  OMG.  Chop up some dried apricots and cranberries and it’s pure, hearty bliss.