Floundering Flutist

*Warning you are about to read the ramblings of mom on the brink of losing it. Thank you 5th grade band.


FLUTE. Oh flute. Little flute you have caused so much stress in my life. A1 decided before school started she was going to be in the band.  She was going to play the flute. She was going to be awesome. School started. She missed school. She missed a flute lesson. She missed another day of school. She missed another flute lesson. She is behind the other kids in her group. She is finding flute is hard. She refuses to practice. She isn't a natural flute player. She has to work. She doesn't like to work. She wants to quit. She isn't going to quit, I won't let her. I am the worst mom in the world. I am horrible. I am ruining her life. I am the cause of her needing to drop out of school. I am ruining my life. I am ruining peace. I am ruining relaxation. 

Normally my motto is "If it causes stress and it isn't necessary, get rid of it." Is the flute causing stress in my life? YES!!! Is it necessary? NO!!! I am I getting rid of it? NO... wait, what? I have to stick to my guns on this one. A1 has never had a challenge. She is capable of doing anything she has ever tired. This is the first thing she has EVER had to work at and she isn't coping very well. (I am not either.) Tonight we had tears, temper tantrums, and screaming. I forced her to practice tonight. I worked with her. I stuck with it. She stuck with it. She practiced for 30 minutes tonight (that includes all the self imposed interruptions).

My skills are basic at best, but that is what she needs right now so we are good, except I am not the most patient person when it comes to her tween-itude. Eye rolls are my rage button. Huffy puffy breathing is my combat trigger. Stompy feet are my quarrel switch.

Tonight was a rough night. The flute is a major problem in my life. A1 is not giving up on the flute. I am not giving up on A1. She will learn from this. I will learn from this. She has to stick with this until the end of the school year. The school year is almost over, right?

In the event that I don't survive the year with the flute, please promise me no one will play the flute at my funeral! Actually, please everyone do! I hope they pass out flutes and make everyone play Hot Cross Buns over and over and over again. I know I will be laughing. 

P.S. I am very impressed at my ability to play Hot Cross Buns even if no one else at my house was impressed at all!  

Ramblings are over.

Super-mom Is Not a Super Mom

I love this picture.

I love this picture so much.

I didn't remember this night until I saw the picture. We were all playing in our rooms while my mom was busy doing something, probably cleaning up a mess we made. Chris and I were supposed to be watching Caley, but you know what happens when you ask a 4 year old and a 7 year old to watch the baby...

Markers, markers happen, that is what happens.  I also believe Caley left graffiti on the underside of the bunk bed, but we aren't talking about that. I am pretty sure my mom was mad, I would have been. BUT I don't remember that part.

I love this picture, because even if my mom was mad (and she should have been) and her lips probably disappeared, as we came to notice they always did when she was mad, I don't remember her being mad. That means there is a good chance that when they are older the A Team won't remember all the times I have been mad at them . I can stop beating myself up over all the less than patient moments in my life, they won't remember, probably.

I love this picture because it shows normal kids who have a normal mom. I have always thought of my mom as super-mom. The mom who always had her stuff together. Always had her ducks in a row. And always had her floors mopped and laundry washed AND put away. Let's be honest, she always DID have her floors mopped, laundry washed, laundry put away, windows washed, counters cleared, floors vacuumed and basically all the other things my house is lucky to have done once week, EVERY. Single. Day. This picture shows that while my mom is a super mom she wasn't super mom, the fictitious mom character we all strive to be. The one we search Pinterest to find. The one who forgets to put herself as a priority. The one we can never be, because no one is super mom. It just isn't possible. Not even for my mom.

I love this picture because it allows me to be less hard on myself when I don't get everything right all the time. It quiets that voice in my head that says "Your mom wouldn't have done that. You aren't as good as your mom." The voice that doesn't let me fail and forgive myself.

I love this picture because it shows that my girls are normal. They won't grow up to be criminals who graffiti all over town, probably. They will grow up to be successful adults, probably, like the kids in that picture mostly did.

I love this picture because it tells be I don't have to be super-mom to be a super mom.

I love this picture because it reminds me to laugh when the girls pull crazy stunts. Laugh and take a picture. Someday they will want to look back at the time A1 decided to write about her love of Jesus on the wall,

or the time A2 decided to practice writing her numbers on the couch,

or the time A3 decided to put on makeup

and laugh as much as I do every time I think back to the days they each pulled these stunts and many others. 

PS- Mom, thanks for being a great example for me to follow. I want to be a super mom like you. (I just plan on using less bleach.)

Communication Fail

I assume when I talk to the girls about something repeatedly and they answer all the questions with the correct answers, they understand what I am talking about. BUT we all know what happens when we assume.

A2 came home from school one day during the first week mad at me. I had apparently ruined her life once again. It took her a couple of hours and bedtime for her to finally open up about me most recent offence.

"Thanks a lot mom. You didn't teach me my address. My teacher asked me my address and I didn't know it. I was the only one in my class who didn't know and now she thinks I am stupid." A2 spewed at me.

I was confused. She knows her address. She has known it since she went to kindergarten. I didn't want her getting on that big bus without being able to tell someone where she lives, just in case.  I looked into her eyes and said, "Honey, you know your address." She shook her head and gave me a sassy duck/pout face. She wasn't buying it. I had to prove it to her.

"What is your street name?" I asked.

Without hesitation she said, "C___________ Lane."

What is your house number?" I asked.

Again she didn't hesitate, "####"

"See I told you, you knew your address." I was throwing a victory party in my head.

"What!?! That is my address? Why didn't you tell me THAT was my address?" Her anger increased, especially as I started to laugh at her.

Party in my head. Over. All these years she knew the information, but she didn't know what the information was. I would ask her to tell me where she lived or what our street name was or what our house number was. I am not confident I ever asked her to tell me her address. We had a major error in communication. I assumed she knew her address was where she lived. I was wrong. Communication fail.

A2, making me a better communicator since 2009.

I am fine

"How are you today?" asked an unassuming Walmart cashier.

You, sir, have no idea what a loaded question that really is.

I stare at him for an uncomfortable, awkward amount of time. How I am is swirling in my head. "I am tired. So tired. A strange tired that hurts my entire body. I can't decide if it starts in my head or if it starts in my toes. Either way the tired it is everywhere. I can't escape the tired. Even after eight hours of sleep the tired is there, weighing me down. My muscles scream. My joints ache. My legs are heavy blocks I drag with me everywhere. I am winded. I am out of breath. Climbing the stairs at home is my own personal Everest. My stomach hurts now. It didn't start hurting until I stopped drinking soda and starting taking my meds. That isn't fair. Eating hurts. Not eating hurts. My head hurts. Most days it is a dull pain that I can ignore. Some days it is blinding. Today it is in between dull and blinding. And also I have a popcorn kernel stuck in my throat, but that has nothing to do with anything else."

Instead I respond, "I am fine." in a generic socially accepted way. "How are you?" I ask. Hesitantly he responds "I am great." Deep down, I think there is more, but I go on.

After rethinking my generic answer, I realize it really isn't all that generic. I know I am fine. I will get better. Hopefully sooner rather than later. I am actually pretty lucky. I have doctors working to fix me, medicine that will make be better. I have friends and family standing by to support me. Friends who give up their Friday nights to sit with me, chatting the night away (at least until 8:00) wrapped up in blankets on the couch, because that is all I have energy for by the end of the week. Friends who surprise me with dinner and treats just because they know that is what I need. Friends who show up to do the dishes and offer to wash the laundry. (Yes, she really does exist.)

I am fine. I got a nap. I got an infusion. I will get another nap while I wait for the headache.

I am fine. How are you?

Political Conversations

If you stop by our house anytime between now and November, there is a good chance you will have to discuss politics. For that, I am sorry. It seems the A Team has taken a bizarre interest in politics. All of them. Well, kind of. A3 mostly repeats what she hears the other two say, but she has been campaigning hard for Mermaid.

The interest started with a school project for A1 and it blossomed from there. A2, following in her sister's footsteps also got interested. A2 isn't quite as fanatical though. A1 is ride or die for her guy, while A2 is more interested in questioning and debating. Now, don't get me wrong, A1 is more than happy to debate, but she is just firm on her pick.

I have heard countless discussions on the candidates from the girls. They don't discriminate on age. They will bring up politics with anyone who can talk. A few weeks ago A1 had a friend over and of course they had to talk politics. It was pretty entertaining to listen to the doom and gloom coming from these 10 year olds. Both agreed neither candidate was a good choice, but neither could agree on who they would vote for, if they were old enough.

Yesterday, a news blurb come on about the DNC. Our friend, K, started chanting, "Trump, Trump, Trump!"

A2, with her wit and saracasam asked, "So, let me guess, you want Trump to win?"

K, surprised that someone would even question that, "Yes, don't you?"

A2, responded, "I don't really know yet. I still have time to decide. Why do you want Trump to win?"

K, slightly annoyed that A2 just wasn't getting it and that it was 8:30 AM, a little early for a deep discussion said, "Because A2, Hillary is a lair."

A2, wasn't done, "No, I know that. Why are you wanting Trump? What do you like about him?"

K, thought about it for a few seconds, "He has ideas, ideas that are good."

A2, trying to get to the bottom of this, "What ideas are good? What ideas do you like?" Who is this kid? She sounds so grown up, smart, inquisitive...

K, quick with her response, "You know, all of them."

A2, not sure where to go with the conversation, but needing it to go on added, "You know he wants to build a wall?"

K, not sure what to think of this wall, "What kind of a wall?"

A2, ready to share her info, "It will be a big wall. It will be somewhere in Mexi... Mexic... Mexicameria. It is to separate the Mexis... Mexios... Mexicas and the Am... Ameri... humans." Ok, this is where political advice from a 7 year old gets a little fuzzy. I try to stay out of their conversations, but I had to step in on this one.

"A2 the wall he wants to build is to keep Mexicans, who are people just like us, from coming into America illegally." I hoped this simple explanation would be enough, but I knew from past experiences it wouldn't be.

A2, of course, knew more than me and was ready to correct me, "No, mom. Mexicos are aliens. Aliens aren't human. I heard it on TV."

Ok, now I see where she is coming from, "That just means they are from a different place. If we went to Paris, we would be aliens. That doesn't mean they are green people from outer space."

"Oh." A2 was deep in thought and at a lose for words.

K picked up the slack in the convo, "I know Trump's daughter."

A2, absolutely impressed, "You do! How do you know her?"

K, confused, "I don't know her."

A2, really confused, "You said you knew her."

K, even more confused, "No, I didn't."

A2, confused but not ready to move on, "You did say you knew her."

K, confused and annoyed, "I don't know her. I saw her on TV. She has a weird name. Tiki, Kiko, Tovoa."

A2, "That is funny. Wanna play mind craft?"

And that was it.

It seems these two 7 and 8 year olds are just as informed as many of the adults trying to decide who to vote for in November. If you need help making a decision on who you should vote for, you are welcome to come over and talk it over with the A Team, then play a little Mine Craft after.

Passive Aggressive Gossip

The weird thing about being a quiet person is that it is easy to get lost in a crowd and completely over looked, especially when you are at a party of people who don't mind being the center of attention. It can be good and it can be bad. I can honestly say I learn a lot about people by being the quietest one in the room.  I sometimes learn a lot of things I don't want to know or hear. I recently heard something and I can't let it go, SO I must write.

Passive aggressive post in 3-2-1.

Last night I was standing NEXT to a couple of people while they talked about someone I obviously care about. It was a short conversation, but the words were full of such petty hate. It was shocking and, yet, not unexpected. I have sat behind her during shows and heard her trash talk this person when he was the director, as well as the actors she hugged and congratulated after the show. It isn't a secret she has a problem with this person, but to say what she said with me less than an arms length away. What the what?

There is a lesson in this. Friends, don't let friends talk about people in a crowd. Friends, don't let friends talk about people when their spouse is standing close enough to smell the alcohol on their breath. We have all been there. We have all done it. We have talked about people only to have them find out. It happens in all the terribly good after school specials: the mean girls are smoking in the bathroom talking about the new girl, only to have her pop out of the stall. It happens. Most of us learn our lesson when we are in Jr. High. BUT some do not, and that is why we have lifetime movies about it. Friends, don't let your friends become a Lifetime Movie.

Encourage your friend to talk about other people at a more appropriate location, perhaps somewhere the person you are wanting to talk about is not currently present at with his/her family. Encourage your friend to look around before they start to talk, just think of all the drama that could have been avoided if those girls in the bathroom did a feet check! Encourage your friend to write a passive aggressive blog post...

Passive aggressive blog post over. I feel better.

PS. I will not disclose the guilty party to anyone, not even my mom, so don't ask.
PPS. I am serious mom. :)

My Worry, My Reality

Today was the day I had been losing sleep over. The day I had been dreading since May. My colonoscopy and endoscopy. No, I am not 50 yet, but I earned this double procedure because my body decided to reject iron. We needed to do it to try to solve the mystery.

I wasn't worried about the normal stuff; the prep or the actual procedure. I was worried about the anesthesia. I worried myself into thinking something would go wrong. I didn't have any reason to think this, other than it was probably on a Lifetime Movie I watched once or the subject of a Lurlene McDaniel book I read when I was young, impressionable, and into books about death and chronic illness. I hadn't ever had a bad reaction to anesthesia or even knew anyone who did. BUT, it was my worry, so it was my reality.

I think, more than the worry about something going wrong, was the worry that I wouldn't be in control. I have some major control issues I need to work through... I didn't like the idea of me being unaware of what was happening or the thought of losing track of time without knowing where I had been. It is putting a lot of trust in people I hadn't ever met. What if something goes wrong and I wake up months later in a mostly abandoned hospital? What if I wake up to hear the moans of the undead trying to eat my brains? It happened to my friend Rick and things have been rough for him ever since.

I was also worried about the way I would act or what I would say when I was waking up. I had a huge fear of being mean. I was afraid I would be mean to the nurses, they have tough enough jobs, I didn't want to be a jerk and add stress to their lives.  I also didn't want to be mean to Mac if he didn't deserve it. (I only want to be mean to him if he deserves it and I can remember it...) I even had a little fear that someone who had been entrusted to be my responsible driver would decide to record me and I would be the next viral superstar. Move over Chewbacca Mom.

Thankfully, today was smooth sailing. After only a couple hours of sleep the night before, I welcomed the drug induced sleep! I kind of think that is part of the diabolical plan of the colon clean out... they don't really need it cleaned out, they just want you desperately tired so you won't fight the anesthesia... I could be wrong, but I don't think so!  Before I went under, the nurse and I celebrated the fact that I wasn't pregnant. She hesitated for a minute, worried that maybe I wanted to be pregnant. I reassured her that I didn't.

And then I woke up with a Kleenex in my hand asking for a bacon sandwich. I sat up in my bed and the nurse told me I needed to stay a little bit longer then she disappeared. I was a little worried. I remember talking to the nurse or the curtain I can't be positive on this part of the story, "Oh no! I didn't have a baby, did I?"

The nurse or the curtain responded with a laugh in her voice, "I don't think so, did you?"

I was relieved, "Good, I didn't want to watch Paw Patrol." Before the nurse or curtain could respond, I scratched my forehead and said, "Wait, I haven't ever watched that."

The nurse or the curtain laughed and said, "I think you must have had quite the dream,"

I must have but I don't remember, and that is ok.

Mac showed up. I said something weird to him, but I don't remember. I just remember him giving me the look of not sure what to do or say, but trying hard not to laugh. The doctor came in to show us pictures of my insides. The 7th grade science student in me really wanted to take them for show and tell, but I didn't. The doctor said a bunch of things. I know he said they found 1 polyp, but it didn't look bad. He also said my stomach had 3 places where it was bleeding. It wasn't ulcers, but I don't remember what he said it was or could be. I know he said we will find out in about 10 days when the results come back. He didn't seem to worried, so I am not going to worry.

I left feeling optimistic. and hungry, very very hungry. and tired, very very tired. At least we knew why I was losing iron. Now we just need to find out why I am bleeding, but I am not going to worry until the doctor calls and says I need to worry. No matter what google says, even if I had my fingers crossed when I promised my friend I wouldn't try to be an internet doctor detective, I will not worry. I will not worry. I will not worry. I will go eat another meal, I have 24 hours to make up for!