No! Look at mine first!

When my husband was recently at meeting on a Friday night, I had the honor of getting the girls ready for bed on a weekend night by myself.  I mean that.  A weekend night, a Friday.  Lovely.  A little more relaxing for everyone.  No school clothes to pick.  No arguments about wearing heels to school the next day because it is a 'special' day [someone's birthday, a spelling test, the volleyball game, pizza day, or any of a 100 other excuses to wear that little inch wedge!].  Friday, is a bit more silly for all.  More reading time, because who cares about them going to bed 8 minutes late on a Friday!  So, yes we can read that book and that one and oh, yes, that one too, even though they are all big books, for the four year old.  And, no, you don't have to read - to the nine year old - I will read to you, pick your book. And, yes, we can play two, no three, games of hide-and-seek first.  And, yes, it is Friday, so no you don't have to go to school tomorrow.  To myself, yes, there is a bottle of wine in the pantry to open and share after he gets home

So, we three girls piled into my bed, dog on the floor, pillows and books everywhere.  Negotiations were short as to which order the books should be read in and where everyone was going to sit, lean, lay.  Ah, lovely Friday.  The reading began with My Best Friend is Ariel (because she is MY favorite).  Only about 100 questions as to why would a mermaid wear a dress, when she should just have a tail and a bra, and why does Clarissa drop that, and why is Sebastian mad, and why does her Daddy have a trident, and why does Ariel lose her voice?  It is Friday.  I have more patience for questions that she knows the answers to -- on Fridays.  On to the next book.  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lia feverishly tugging at her backside.  I wait.  I read.  Near ten year olds are whacko.  I'm thinking the jammies and undies are having a war down there that needs attention.  But call a near-ten girl on digging in their privates, or adjusting their underwear, or picking their noses too quickly and you risk a hummmmph and tears, use the opportunity to talk to them about hygiene and you risk a full on meltdown -- This age is bizarre.  I don't understand it.  I don't remember it, either.   Reading continues.  Hmmm, tugging turns to digging.  On my bed, ick.  I take a break and ask her to go wash her hands.  Although there were two layers of clothing between, ick.  I suggest a nail scrub and new underwear as well.  She says, calmly, I think I have itchy worms.  Ugh.  Itchy worms are what we call pinworms.  Ever had them in your house?  We have.  Twice last year.  Thank you to the then three year old's habits of sticking her fingers everywhere, 'cause you can.    "Do you want me to check?"  hesitantly.  Checking for pinworms can cause terror beyond all imagination.  But, alas, it is Friday and everyone seems relaxed.  Next thing I know, I have two strange yoga posers on my bed with bared butts in the air (did I mention, we were ON MY BED!) hands spreading cheeks and Gia screaming at the top of her lungs "NO!  LOOK AT MY BUTT FIRST!" then, remembering her manners, sweetly, softly: "Please, mommy."  [Because, uh, you want to have itchy worms too, just because your sister might.  Four year olds are whacko in a different way.  It is truly freaky]

It was a Friday night to remember. 

And, thank goodness they were both itchy worm free.  But Lia did need to take a quick shower, again; to remove a bit of tissue.  She is independent and showers herself (when I remember how I was told she may never walk or have control over bodily functions, I have that flash of relief, thankfulness, and awe that still comes wrapped tightly in a thin layer of pain) -- so, a refresher that it is actually important to wash one's body while you are in the shower conditioning your hair (again! the toilet tissue was not stuck in your hair little Diva) was in order.   Gia, then wanted to have a shower too.  Because, yes she CAN! do it herself and "LOOK AGAIN I have toilet tissue stuck too."   

Needless to say, they were more than 8 minutes past bedtime.  Lia comforted me by saying, it is a weekend mommy, it is okay.

Did you tell?

Just a few weeks ago I made the decision to go au naturale with my hair.  I made the decision, started the process and BOOM!  My cycle, my monthly, my menses,  my aunt flo --or whatever you want to call it, went whacky.   I just don't get it.  I was actually just finishing up when I made the going grey decision.  It was a Monday, ah, I remember it well.  Still needing a panty liner, but all the ugh coming to an end.  Then, just 8 days later:  Seriously, what the hell?  On a Tuesday.  Yeah, only 6 days free from freaking Flo (never called it that before).  Full on cramps (I thought I had food poisoning); a spot; and, then hello! The period from hades that lasted for-fucking-ever.  I've had things go a little whacky before, but this was just wrong. 

How in the name of all glorious padless days did my uterus find out that I was getting old?  It can't be a coincidence, can it?  Did it read my blog?  And now it is jealous of the follicles atop my head and wants equal page time?  Did you tell it?  Did it look at my passport and suddenly realize it had been hoodwinked by my youthful appearance and healthy lifestyle?  More likely that they put something in hair dye that acts as a uterus preservative?   A reason to go back to my coffee latte locks from a box?

No, don't say it.  Don't say it is time.  It happens.  It is natural.  It is a part of the glorious cycle of being a woman.  It is a transition to be treasured.  Don't break into the song from the Lion King either.  Just don't.

Oh and since I'm on the topic of body parts-- what is up with calling a full grown man's penis "little [insert name here]"?  Do people really do that, other than on television?   If my husband, or any man I wanted to have sex with [yes, we are using that in a past tense sort of way just for emphasis], referred to his in that way, I would crack up laughing and tell "little" Tom, Dick or Harry that he should just go play with "big" Tom [yes,that is exactly what I was thinking]  by himself somewhere.  Alas, there would be no sex.  Considering my uterus has decided to spring sporadic leaks, whenever it damn well pleases, who wants to let it engage in sex anyway.

Off-kilter.

We live in a wonderful place.  It has its issues, like every place does.   Some of ours are greater.  Some of ours are lesser.  The water, the salt air and the laughter of my family feed my soul.  At times though, it is hard to remember to keep my heart filled with the fortune and the love that is mine, even when it is right in front of me. (perhaps like when your four year old says she hates you and wants a different mommy and you consider agreeing with her instead of appreciating, uhmmm her growth, or when same said four year old keeps you up all night with hives cause she needs you, and in your exhaustion the thought of that alternate mommy enters your mind, or when your fourth grader is acting too much like a junior high kid and she isn't even 10, and you really want to yell that at her, or when you think your husband doesn't realize that you haven't been kissing goodbye or hello or goodnight recently and are totally lonely, till you think in your fog filled brain, wait, was I kiss-available? or was I flying by in an exhausted ranting frenzy for the past three days?). 

Today, for me, my heart was a deflated balloon and my soul was hungry.  A strange exhausted sadness was smothering me, making it too difficult for me to begin the work that was sitting right in front of me.   You know, one of those tasks that you have to do, it isn't exciting, isn't terribly difficult, but is time consuming and needs to be done - today.  Well, I could not seem to get past stacking all the papers that I needed to get started, so, I stopped.

I opened up a photo file and flipped through these:

First, I felt the breeze.

Then,  

I remembered what was important,

I felt the joy,

I heard the laughter,

and I was overcome with their pure love.  

Now, here I sit, my heart swelling, thankful for my life, the memory of the laughter feeding my soul. Knowing that I will hear real laughter later, again and again. The task awaits, patient little task that it is.  I've tucked what was smothering me in a bottom drawer. I've been righted.

When you get thrown off-kilter by lack of sleep or exhaustion or work or obligations or the day-to-day drain, I hope you have some memories handy, so you can get back on track quickly.