Still learning over here.
This morning’s installment in the learn to love being a mom project:
I guess I am just a tramp in a bike helmet.
Do give me a moment to explain.
Yesterday I couldn’t force myself out on my run. I had a list of things to be done and couldn’t shake them. Still aware of how much happier I am when I get some exercise (which is easiest to do while Caroline is at pre-school) I jumped on my bike. I had gone an hour earlier in the car to try and pick up a gift certificate for teacher appreciation day and the establishment wasn’t open. I wouldn’t have enough time to run there and back but I could certainly do it on my bike in time to do the preK pick up.
As I rode home as fast as I could with the secured gift certificate in my bike basket and my headphones blaring the Glee Pandora station (it’s a happy place – appropriately titled Glee) I had to risk being squashed by the speeding traffic or plow through some malfunctioning sprinklers watering the sidewalk. I plowed through the sprinklers. As I emerged out from under the water cruising about 10 miles an hour I got an extreme sense of euphoria. I can’t even explain it. All I knew is that in that moment
I WAS FREE.
As I pondered how I wanted to feel that way all of the time, I realized why motherhood is so hard on me: there is very little freedom in motherhood. In fact, it is the most all-consuming job ever known to mankind. No wonder I feel so trapped: I am a free spirit. I just want to be free. Other “not as conscientious” mothers may neglect their children in search of their own freedom. Not just OTHER moms, all of us moms probably do that from time to time, I know I do. I know many moms who are always out for their own entertainment to the detriment of their children. I don’t want to be that kind of mom, and so I remain in a conundrum between being a good mom and having my greatest desire of freedom.
I will be exploring solutions on how I can achieve these two important elements in my life simultaneously. One way I do know works is to involve my kids in the free experiences. My favorite memories are when I am being free WITH my family: bike rides, camping trips, Disneyland, ocean visits, silly string fights, mud slinging, dancing in the rain, star gazing, and hiking. I guess that is why I am such a playful mom.
Note to self: PLAY more. PLAY always. It will make you happy.
Oh yeah, the tramp reference. All morning long while thinking of this post I have been singing to myself.
She loves the free fresh wind in her hair. Life without care.
I’ve been struggling for months. I couldn’t pin-point what was going on. I thought it was just part of the grief of losing my nephew, and it partially was, but it started before we lost Braxton. I was angry. I just got angrier. For months I didn’t want to pray. I didn’t want to go to church. I didn’t want to read the scriptures. I just wanted to stew, and get angrier about all the unfairness of life.
I spent a night at the cabin with a few friends last week, and we took the time to have a honest share with one another. I was floored by the experience. Just a few moments of humble and honest self-reflection completely turned me around.
I was able to see a part of me that I already identified long ago. I was able to see the part of me that went straight to pride and anger as to protect myself from the hurt or disappointment.
I was angry because I felt like I could never measure up. I was angry that people around me didn’t appreciate me. I was angry because I didn’t want to need God. I was angry because I was hurt. I was sad, so I was angry. My subconscious thinks it’s easier to be angry. But it’s not. Pride is destructive. Anger is a form of pride.
After two seconds of honest reflection, I immediately felt God telling me it’s o.k. I am just human doing the best I can. He wasn’t mad at me. He was glad that I finally figured it out. I don’t need to be angry. I need to be vulnerable and let God heal.
I most of all needed to re-understand that I am not alone. We all need God. We all need to be told that we are beautiful.
I love this song. It’s an old Whitney Houston number and was recently redone on Glee. After hearing it on my i-pod yesterday, I’ve been searching it out on youtube. I want to send it to my brother who recently lost his son Braxton. (I can’t type that last sentence without my eyes welling up in tears)
I’ve been through some hard things in my life. I’ve been diagnosed with a mental illness, I’ve lived through serious poverty, I’ve come within a hair from losing my marriage, I’ve experienced cruel prejudices, I’ve struggled with my weight, and I’ve lost people I’ve loved.
But right now nothing hurts more than Braxton. Even though I didn’t spend as much time with him as I would have preferred (due to living in poverty half a world away in Tennessee for a decade) I loved that kid. He was a complex mixture of the best of his mom and dad. He was so compassionate (mom) and determined (dad). He was so funny (dad) yet smart (mom). Ha ha. O.k. he could have gotten both of those from both of his parents. He had an infectious smile (mom and dad). He was the life of the party (his aunt ali) 🙂 He was and is such a good kid. The kind of kid that anyone would be proud to call their own.
We all love and miss him so, and are left with such a huge hole in our hearts, as we try to make sense of his passing.
I worry for my brother and his family every day, and I simultaneously try to soothe my own pain. Every day I send my brother a little message on facebook to uplift, inspire, strengthen, and happy-make. It’s been amazing to me how much that little act has been the best balm for me. Sometimes I end up searching online for hours for just the right thing, but for those hours I am finding little gems to my own soul.
Like this song. Wow. What a great reminder to where we need to look. In all our troubles. I can honestly say that God is the only way I’ve survived. And I proudly say that I have done more than survive. I have flourished under his tutelage.
I love this singer’s journey to her own health. It really does boil down to the fact “I can do all things through God whom strengtheneth me.” I know that if my brother and his family know anything, it is to look to God for their strength. They do such an amazing job at it. I’m so grateful they have their God. And I am so grateful that they are my constant reminder to look to Him too.
I guess we kind of wished we had a Daddy Warbucks too.
Even though we had great parents,
we wanted Daddy Warbucks’ house.
And Pun-jab.
We also wanted to dance like that
and sing like that.
One thing bothered me about the movie though.
I know, I can only think of one thing. Weird.
Little Orphan Annie’s rat tail.
Imagine my surprise when Caroline was sportin’ the same “do” last night.
I cringed all up inside.
My little girl Alice wanted to brush it and make it right.
Yeah, I am weird.
And a little obsessive.
Even orphans deserve good hair.
Especially if they are on TV.
This video is for my little sister Renee.
I want her to know that I finally forgive her
for placing the VHS Annie in the VCR
with peanut butter all over her hands.
And like Annie taught,
there is always tomorrow.
And this tomorrow we will be watching Annie on DVD.
And the next tomorrow we may even have Blu-Ray.
Did I tell you my new secret obsession? I want to make Caroline famous. She deserves to be the modern day Shirley Temple. She is sooo dang cute.
If we dyed her hair red she could play Rosie. And if LG lost 80 pounds and grew his hair out he could sooo be Matt Damon. I guess Abigail will have to play Scarlett Johansen since I am nowhere near close. Man, all we need is a zoo. See it always goes back to Daddy Warbucks.
(We loved the movie by the way, but beware there is a lot of language)
I’m a codependent.
A full-fledge flaming codependent.
What does that mean?
It means that I am addicted to others at an unhealthy level.
It means that my core issue is
needing other people to fill my love tank.
It means that I unconsciously do things
(all the time) to feed my addiction.
Things like making too many comments in Sunday School.
Or blogging for attention.
I often cry myself to sleep at night because nobody cares.
And then there are the times (too many times)
that I try to require things of my husband,
things that I need to let go.
I don’t do it to be wrong,
I just want to be loved
and I just want to love others
and so I hold on to that thing
far too long.
It’s part of my addiction.
I try to control other people.
Unconsciously.
To gain importance.
To get love.
I can’t have enough of love and importance.
Just saying it is part of the addiction
doesn’t excuse it
because it is still very much my life
and I have to own it and change it
and sculpt me into what I want me to be.
It does give understanding
and the first step to fixing is admitting.
So, this post is my way of letting something go.
Something hard.
Even though I have every right to care about it.
and I am completely justified in my desires
because they are pure.
Yet, they are my desires for him,
and not his desires for him,
so I have to let it go.
Even if he is wrong
and doesn’t see it.
Because I can’t live his life.
I can only live my life.
Apparently JJ Heller understands
why I cried myself to sleep last night.
Next time I am going to sing this little song
instead of getting all frustrated with myself.
Because let’s face it,
nobody gets it right every time.
Everyone needs room to screw up.
And I have decided that true love is
really only one thing.
Loving each other through your screw ups.
And boy do I love that man.
I’m the luckiest girl that he loves me back
even when I try to control him.
Do you remember this ancient post about the family staying up all night to dance.
We couldn’t afford to go to Chuck E Cheese and so we pulled out the old records.
Well now we can afford to go to Chuck E. Cheese but I believe I would rather
travel back in time and do this all over again.
I finally figured out how to post the video and these are so cute.
The girls have grown so fast but I am pleased to report that they still giggle just the same.
And they still think they can dance.
It started out slow. Very Lawrence Welk feeling slow.
Then we moved on to Bob Dylan’s song on banjo.
Dad does some tapping and at the end the baby has to join in.
More with dad and baby. Puff the magic dragon.
Then dad goes a little crazy.
A little Beverly Hillbilly’s. We were in TN after all.
We have some underwear malfunctioning.
This is when I hope that no sickos have found the blog.
But, if you sickos have found us, make sure you watch this one through
to see the man you will contend with if you come within 50 feet of our daughters.
And then know that I am about 800% more ferocious.
Now dad kindly introduces the two-step to our flapper girls.
Has anybody seen our girls?
And if you’ve been the loyal watcher,
you will be happy for this finale.
One final laugh for us all.
alice w. gold 