My life as a run-on.

February 7, 2012

I’m buying a house.
I’m buying a house and Molly is one and the custody situation hasn’t changed and I love to cook and am taking so many classes and marriage is hard but rewarding and I can’t get rid of the insomnia, but that’s okay because I have so much to research anyway for this house I’m buying… and how can I think of buying a house when I can’t have my daughter with me yet/ever?
Molly cuddles her head into my chest and says ‘Awww, sweet baby’ the way that I do every day and I melt.  She screams and yells for the phone – fits that she throws that her father finds funny and I hold my own against.
They’re slowing down some, but this child will always be a force of nature.  I hope.
Abs surprises me with these bouts of maturity and these moments of childishness that are so bittersweet for me.   She’s on the cusp of so many wonderful things and I want her to have the knowledge and desire to reach for them.

And now I’m buying a house in this Illinois city, so far away from home.  Two things I never would have seen for myself.  Molly will have a yard – tiny – but a yard to play in.  And neighbors.  She’ll have things I couldn’t provide on my own for Abs.
It’s hard not to feel as though this seems to her as though I’m replacing her.
And I tell her that every day.  Even if it’s just in my head sometimes.

My life, right now, is a run-on.  Every event or thought or action runs into another because time is moving so fast.
I want it to slow down.  I want it to stop.
Not in the bad way, in the way where I can just stop the moment, breathe it in and permanently place it in my memory so that I’ll be able to drag it out, years later, and devour it.


Three weeks.

September 10, 2011

Three more weeks of Minnesota living.
Three weeks until I become a Chicago person.
What DO Chicago folks call themselves?

Nick left this morning to avoid arriving tomorrow and starting work as a zombie on Monday morning.
Which left Molly and me here alone to finish up the job of packing and hanging out until the condo is ready at the end of the month.

I’d show you a picture of this place, but I’m too embarrassed.
Let’s just say this is going to be a JOB.
Especially since Molly is crawling like a spider monkey and her favorite thing in the entire world is an electrical cord.
And there is NO way to baby proof in a moving house.
And NO one within 14 hours to help me out.

This is going to be a LONG three weeks.


I’m having a hard time.
Every 4 years the flashiest sporting event comes around – yes.  The presidential elections.
And every year it gets a little harder for me to keep my mouth shut.

After all, how can people believe THIS or THAT?
Did they not do the math?
Not read between the lines?
Not spend hours fact-checking to make sure they had the facts of the matter before spreading their opinion around sheep-like?

And the emails.  Dear heavens.  The emails.
Political forwards, sent from family member to family member – and eventually to me.
Only.  I don’t agree.
I’ve never agreed.
I don’t believe that all immigrants should HAVE to speak English before gaining citizenship or residency status.  I’m rather glad my ancestors weren’t held to that standard or I’d have ended up in a completely different place.  How egocentric is it that folks feel that folks trying to make a better life for themselves should learn our language to make things easier on US?
Outbursts like that.

So I take deep breaths and mute conversations that get me too worked up.
I pass on responding to many comments that seem so ignorant to me.
Politics aside, people deserve to have opinions, whether based upon their research or not.
They can base it on a clown’s nose stuffed up a dog’s butt if they want to and you know what?
I still need to respect their right to voice their opinion without forcing them to swallow mine.

And that is what I’m trying like HELL to remember.

I need 6 arms.
Or more.
I may need more.

Never have I been so acutely aware of the fact that one child outnumbers a set of parents.

Perhaps I should have been alarmed when the doctor said, “She’s the busiest baby I’ve ever seen in all my years of practice!”
But mostly I felt proud.
Maybe I should have known something was bound to be wrong with a child that will eat anything put in front of her – she doesn’t turn her nose up at any kind of food.  It’s all fair game.
But I was just so happy she didn’t have the weight problems that some of my friends’ babies have.

But now.

Now everything she sees is Food.
Those with children are laughing, thinking that that’s how every baby views the world.
But no!  I can assure you!  I’ve done this before.

She Jedi mind tricks the world around her into shedding the normal physical rules that define it.
The basket across the room containing all of the things I must pack for our move – because we are moving – what a better time to move than JUST after your baby has become mobile… But that basket?  The one with the Things?  The Things She Cannot Have Without Threat of Death?
You blink and it has crossed the room to her.
There is no other explanation to explain the handfuls of the Things protruding from her mouth.
For she has not moved.
You know she hasn’t.
You’ve been staring at her the whole time.
Except for the involuntary blinking that comes with having eyes and eyelids to blink.
But surely no MORTAL baby could have moved so quickly?

But she has.

Note the paper that she has brought over to her toys.  The blankets in the background that she has dragged around.  The box that she dumped over and unpacked.  And this is just the Mostly Untouched side of the room.

Oh.  Did I not mention that this wonder being was SICK while she was running around so crazily?
Note the snot.
Today was only half speed.

Lord, help me.
I’ve given birth to a Tasmanian Devil on speed.

Mama said, Mama said.

July 20, 2011

But!  Before this, there are moments like these that make it all worthwhile:


This child may grow up to be a Holy Terror – but at least she’s fun to play with.





Father’s Day 2011

June 28, 2011

I’m so thankful for my little patriotic child of awesomeness.
Today’s been a rough day, so I’ll just post the picture and thank God that she’s alive, healthy and so darned happy.

My children are my reasons.

I passed some Komatsu equipment this evening.
It wasn’t moving at the late hour, of course – it just sat there waiting for Monday to come back around.
But it made me want my Daddy bad.

I’m 31 years old and I want my Daddy.
I think I’ll always call him Daddy.
That he’ll always be Daddy.

He can still calm me down by telling me that everything is going to be okay.  Even if my brain says otherwise, my heart believes him and because it calms me down, things ARE always okay.   He can still put me to sleep by rubbing my head.  He can still make me laugh and light up and feel silly and young and lightweight…
He’s my hero – my knight in shining armor – my first contact in a time of need.

I don’t think I’ll ever be okay with not being able to see Mama and Daddy on a regular basis – whenever I want.

I love Nicholas.
I love Molly.
But I can’t help but feel that being this far from your support system is detrimental to a marriage and to your children.
I realize that I am supposed to be okay with Nicholas becoming my support system.
But that’s not how I was raised, nor how the people who raised me were raised.
My family lives within a hundred miles of where they’ve lived for 400 years.

My family is such a rich and wonderful part of the lives that they touch that not having that for Molly or for my family is weighing down my heart.

I have trouble understanding how other people compartmentalize this sort of thing better.
I just want to sit in a hot tub of water, read a book and eat a tub of buttercream icing.

Whoa.  What a month.
The Lord saw fit to grant me another birthday on this Earth, which is wonderful.
31 years.
That sounds like a lot longer than it actually has been.
Just yesterday I was riding my bike with the neighborhood kids and drinking root beer with my grandfather.
You hear that life is short, but that phrase doesn’t cover the sheer bitness of it.

Abbey surprised me with a visit to Minneapolis.
Mols and I were lazing about and I hear the door open.
I thought Nick was sick – something HAD to have been wrong for him to come home in the middle of the day.  Instead of his face, the smiling face of my eldest came running through the door.
Best. Surprise. Ever.

Life is just better with both of them around.

Things are hard on that front, but adulthood tends to be hard.  Hard and rewarding.
It would be nice if someone would tell you at the beginning of an uphill battle if the effort was going to be worth it.
for instance, homemade chicken and dumplings from total scratch?  Good, but not worth it.
Homemade chicken dumplings made with rotisserie chicken from the grocery store that I don’t have to bake myself?  Totally worth it.

You just need a guide – a scale.

Dang it.  Now I want some dumplings.

Gone are the days when I can visit the dollar store and walk out happily with a $1 plastic toy.
I don’t know when exactly I became the expensive adult that I am, only that when I look around, my toys are extensive.  And expensive.

Recently my dear husband and I splurged on a new Canon camera.

A $1000 camera.
Very unlike the $200 camera I purchased on my own a few years ago.
Sure, we have the means.
And apparently had the opportunity.
Which is bad with us, because we are good at making the most of our opportunities.

And couldn’t even manage to leave the parking lot of the camera store to sleep on the decision.

But.  That being said, we’ve made the most of our new toy and our ability to learn anything techy with enough time…
And have started getting ‘lifestyle’ shots that show our day to day activities much more clearly than our stupid iPhone cameras can.

Yes, this entire post was for posting Molly pictures.
So sue me.

Another day, another blow.
My dad always tells me that the only way I can know if I’m making the right decision is to make one, wait ten years, and then judge the outcome.
Unfortunately I’ve found that bit o’ wisdom to be true – especially when it comes to parenting.

I’m a good mom.
I’ve made the best of the situation I chose for myself.
Had I known better, I would have chosen better.  Especially for Abigail.

I grew up in a poorish suburb of Memphis, just to the south in north Mississippi.
I was a pregnant teenager in a school that had more than its share.
Compared to the girls that walk the halls of that school now, we were all quite conservative.
And that is where my daughter goes to school.

It blows my mind to think that there are areas in other parts of the country that don’t have a 25% STD rate.
That have middle schools without pregnancies and that have children that wait past the age of 13 or 14 to have sex.
Granted, my daughter hasn’t chosen that path yet – and I, with my poor judgment, waited longer than that – but the statistics are grim.
It’s not unusual for girls to marry right out of high school and never venture far from their place of origin.
It’s not unusual for parents to be okay with their children only achieving the same level of success that they themselves have.

That is intolerable to me.
I was a teenage mom.
I have ‘Some College’ on all of the forms that I fill out.
I have worked three jobs at a time to make ends meet.
Abbey’s father lives 2 miles away from where we attended high school with his wife of 10 years.
They know little to nothing of what’s going on in their country and are content to answer questions with opinions they’ve heard from others.

I want Abbey to have more, to be more.

I can’t think of another way to accomplish that without taking her out of the area.
I’m married to a man that made the right decisions.
That got his PhD at a young age with hard work and that continues to make his way up into the world based on his work ethic, knowledge and sheer stubbornness.
We’re equals in terms of intelligence and many values – only I stay at home and change diapers because I’m blessed – and he goes to work and converses with Nobel Prize winners.
I’m not saying that we get everything right now – we don’t.  We’re human.
But we’re damn sure a better jumping off point than the area either of us grew up in.

The choices my daughter is making without me there tell me several things.
One, that she needs her mother desperately.
Two, that she needs different friends.
Three, that she needs therapy and medications to help her maintain a mental balance, just as the majority of the rest of our family does.

I’m praying so very hard right now that she can get all of those things.
It’s beyond the issue of mother vs. father now.
It’s beyond the issue of who wants her with them more – because, believe me, it would be so much easier to allow her father to be the one in charge of these next 4 years after I’ve handled the last 14.  But I’ve never taken the easy path with Abigail and don’t intend to now.
The truth is that she would be better off with me because the environment that she’s choosing for herself in Mississippi is a destructive one.
And sometimes a fresh perspective, a fresh place – a place to start over is essential.