Memorial Day Weekend.

Joey took me out for my twenty eighth birthday last night. I'm not even at the age old people want to go back to (as in when you ask them how old they are turning and they say "29!") and yet I think I am old. I feel old. I blame that entirely on my children.
Even still we both looked smok'en hot in our black, dress-up attire: my tiny black dress (which I am sure made my dad's insides turn over when we dropped the boys off. Joey says I need to seriously get over this. Not really sure how at the moment, but I think he's right.) and Joey in his black button up shirt and leather jacket. You'd never know at home we're just a bunch of old married fogies who barely can hold their farts in anymore. 
We went to Harrah's Steak House and enjoyed the extra polite service ("m'am" and "sir")and delicious food: fresh white bread with crunchy crust smeared with creamy butter, red wine in an extra large glass, steak cooked exactly how each of us likes it, strawberry cheesecake for dessert. Ugh. I still feel full and that was almost twenty four hours ago.
Then we rented a movie (a horrible, horrible movie)and got Hot Tamales (my favorite) and some chocolate candy (for him) to top the night off.
The movie was Black Swan, picked out by yours truly. I like Natalie Portman and I like ballet, so I thought it was a no brainer.
Well. I should have actually used my brain and read the back of the movie which said it was a "psycho sexual thriller" or something gross like that. Maybe I would have chosen something else, or maybe not. I don't think I would have believed, before I watched it, that any movie with a ballet base and Natalie Portman could be so awful. I mean, the Natalie Portman movie we watched in my house over and over and over is Mr Magoriam's Wonder Emporium about a magical toy store for gosh sakes.
Black Swan was completely disgusting on so many levels. I kept thinking she was going to pull through, get out of all of her emotional, psychological problems and overcome (comm'on Natalie! You can do it! I need you to do it! Be my hero!); but instead she just ends up killing herself. (Oops! But, no-see, now you don't have to go through the torture of watching it because you already know: she kills herself. The End.) It was more of a horror film, really. I give Joey crap all the time for renting the F-bomb throwing, shooting, bad guys movies, and then I go and rent the worst movie we have ever seen in all our nine whole years together.
I have officially been banned from movie picker forever, which is fine by me. That choice made absolutely clear I am totally inept at choosing a quality movie. Or at least at my next attempt I will read the back of the DVD case.
So anyways, right now it is so quiet. All the boys are sleeping. It won't last long though; nap time is like a baby chick about to hatch: the first whimper from the bedroom like the first crack in a previously silent eggshell. 
It's not a bad thing, it just happens.
Once we are all up Joey is bbqing steak and we'll fix corn and potatoes too. A couple of more hours to spend together before the start of another week, which will be short thankfully. And please, summer, get here!! This weekend was like Narnia: winter and no Christmas.

Saturday Bliss.

Sunday morning and I'm missing my blog (writing) more than I'm missing working out. So that's a lot. Work is going fabulous, the boys have adjusted just fine, my breakdowns have been minimal. I'm heading into week four and that seems just impossible it's gone by that quickly.
Yesterday was a super fun day. We went to Saint's to work out; I did a sculpting class which I always love because when I leave my muscles feel stronger than they did before. Joey did his own thing and than he swam; I love that he gets to swim now because I work there. Makes me feel like I am giving him something, you know? He loves to swim. I used to like swimming too before I wore eye make-up and spent forty minutes on my hair every morning. Now the thought of swimming, well, you might as well line me up on a brick wall and spray me down with a fire hose. But he can still love it; he's bald and never wears mascara.
After the gym we went straight to Ethan's t-ball game. It was one of the rare ones that's been warm and bearable, which actually made it relaxing and enjoyable. On the way home we stopped and did some grocery shopping at Scolari's with the kiddie fire engine carts that Joey always lets the boys get. I hate those things. Not only is it as embarrassing as driving a light teal Astro minivan in the store, turning into the isles is almost impossible and you can completely forget about turning around mid-isle-not going to happen. Plus, you always have the risk of taking out whole center displays with it's non-u-turn radius. On top of that it's grimy as hell and I'm sure has sicknesses growing all over it like a high school science project.
Once we got home and got the kids in bed I made brownies for our after-dinner-dessert and then hopped in the shower while Joey went for a run.
The best part of the day was getting out the shower to a quiet house that smelled like brownies and lying down on the couch in my bathrobe, my wet hair wrapped in my towel like a turban, and resting for fifteen minutes without so much as a peep from the boys bedrooms. Ahh, bliss.
Then I got all dolled up and as soon as Joey got home ran out the door to meet my friend for drinks at the local Mexican restaurant just down the street. It felt great to be getting out and doing something which felt so normal but really is such huge, abnormal thing for a mom to do: get all dolled up, leave her husband and children on a Saturday afternoon, and go have drinks with a friend from work, just for the heck of it.
When I came home Joey looked like the Gladiator had gotten a hold of him. His left eye especially was all bloodshot and looked like there was a golf ball underneath of it. He explained that he must of breathed in some awful plant that gave him an allergic reaction on his run. He was a total stud tho and still went over to our friends for dinner.
So we finished the day over at Jen and Sam's, relaxing with friends with the occasional sniffle and sneeze from Joey, my heart thankful.

Healing: the End of Mommy Guilt, Part One of Many I'm Sure.

So after maybe spending the whole day after I wrote that last post in a foggy depression bubble in which I maybe was a little too sensitive and barked at my husband over a simple little comment that maybe turned in to a full blown why'd-i-ever-marry-you fight which maybe led to me leaving the house and crying in my car for an hour because I didn't have a bra on and couldn't go to Starbucks or anywhere else, a good friend reminded me I could read my bible and pray, and that God would answer me, somehow, someway.
See, sometimes I forget I am a christian and can do these things. Or maybe I don't forget, I just don't believe any of it.
Anyway, after a day like that even I am desperate? enough to sit down and open my bible, despite all the baggage I carry around it.
Because I am having such a hard time figuring this whole mother/wife/woman thing out, I listened to the little voice (this time I'm pretty sure it was the spirit) reminding me of Proverbs 31, the place where it talks about what a woman who is following God looks like. I wasn't expecting much; like many other "church" people I've read this passage so many times I can easily pass it off like a Hallmark card but I listened to that little voice anyway and flipped there.
Two verses in and my heart was so soft I could feel it melting in my chest : "Her husband has full confidence in her and lacks nothing of value. She brings him good, not harm, all the days of her life." After that big'ole piece of humble pie **see middle of first paragraph** the writer goes on, verse after verse after verse of...her working. Yes, yes, it's work that is pretty home-makery except for maybe when she buys the field (that's pretty business like, like maybe in today's world she'd have a business degree or even better, a finance one) and some could argue it all has to do with her home, but the freeing part for me was that this woman was BUSY. She worked really really hard. I can't imaging she was sitting around all day satisfying every whim of her children. In fact, the only time children are mentioned is near the end when it says, "Her children arise and call her blessed".  She's getting up early and doing a whole bunch of hard, tiring things that make her house a functional home, one where at the end of the day her children and her husband praise her. (YES! this is what my little heart cries out. I WANT THAT!)
I also want to mention the part where it says, "She provides food for her family and portions for her servant girls." I hadn't ever paid attention to that part before, that she had servants, as in plural. Who knows? This lady could've had a full time nanny for each one of her children!
In all seriousness it just made me realize I need to give myself a break. The standards I hold myself up to are so ridiculous and because I can never meet them I end up believing lies:
You got married too young. Your first baby was a naive mistake. You doubled that mistake by having another. You are not responsible/emotionally stable/old enough to be a mom. In short: Your life is wrong.
And then in church today Louie talked about carrying around unforgiveness (of ourselves) and sin (lies) on our backs like when Paul says in Romans 6, "Who will rescue me from this body of death?" He explained that back then murderers would have their victims' bodies chained onto their backs and eventually the rot from the deceased would seep into their own bodies and kill them. (BTW, I think this is a great idea!) It was a perfect picture of how I am walking around these days with a "body of death" chained to my back, it's rot (lies) seeping into my heart, making my life stink.
So. This has all combined to make for a very emotionally draining weekend but I feel like I at least broke through some of the lies I've been unconsciously listening to, and that I also can now start to replace them with truth: Nothing about your family is a mistake. You are the exact mama God chose for your boys. You are working hard, for the good of your family. Get some servant girls (haha just kidding).

Mommy Guilt, Part One of Many I'm Sure.

Ahhh Saturday! I remember the weekends being such a refuge when I worked fulltime before and here they are again. I appreciate days off so much more, I appreciate sleep so much more, I appreciate wine so much more.
Let's start off by letting you know I have been dealing with chronic back pain. There's a part of me that just wants to ignore it but the other part of me can't because, well, it hurts. All the time. I don't know what it's from but I have a feeling it's from overuse particularly in kickbox and also maybe yoga and then there's my whole cracking-every-crackable-joint-in-my-body issue that I've had for fourteen years. That could be it. Anyway, I'm worried.
So I guess I will just ignore it because who wants to pay for an MRI or CT? Not me. I've already had to do that once when my appendix decided to blow (while I was prego with Noah) in between insurances. Great timing, God.
ANYWAY.
Even while I sit here trying to ignore it the pain from my neck is giving me a headache in the lower back of my skull. AWESOME!
I'm sort of looking forward to cleaning today, getting my house looking nice and smelling good. Ironically it's so much less dirty then when I was working part time because WE AREN'T HERE TO MESS IT UP FIVE MILLION TIMES A DAY. So it should be a relatively quick clean.
I am still loving my new job. It's a great fit for me and I am excited to be fully off training and on my own.
I still am having fits of mommy guilt over it, lying in bed unable to sleep wondering if this is all a big mistake, and I am only doing this to take the easy way out. Being  a fulltime stay-at-home mom is not my cup of tea but I feel like kaka over it. Instead of looking at this work opportunity as something totally awesome and fulfilling and financially helpful and an answer to my desperate prayers, I lie in bed wondering if it's an opportunity from the devil himself and the beginning of the end for me and my children.
I'd like to think the pressures I feel are from outside of myself but they're not. They are from my own gut, my own soul. They are from this awful habit I have of comparing myself to every other mother out there and  coming up short every time even though no other two moms' lives look the same, but for some reason everyone else is doing it right and I am the only one royally messing things up in the maternal area.
I have to consciously remind myself that all those wonderful above feelings are from my own insecurities, period.
And then of course, looking at reality also helps. Like the fact that I noticed last night, after too weeks of working fulltime,  I was able to laugh and enjoy both my boys for the first time in what seems like a very long time. That I am not rushing out of the bedtime routines to fall on the couch completely exhausted and overwhelmed by their questions and crying. That I linger while singing them songs, tickling their backs, pulling the covers up close. That when Ethan is procrastinating and delaying his bedtime as long as he possibly can, I can laugh it off with my husband and say, "That kid!" instead of wanting to shoot myself in the head.
The flip side to all of this is that annoying little voice (my conscience? a book I read? the spirit? the devil?) in my head telling me you are running away from your children because it's hard! you are taking the easy way out and it will eventually come back to bite you in the butt, like maybe your children will end up in the state prison because of it! And you will be perpetually unfulfilled for going after things that aren't really important (like financial security and a fulfilling job) instead of raising your children twenty-four-seven! I could go on-the little voice in my head certainly does-but I will spare you.
Man, this is all putting me in a depressing mood.
Maybe it's time I go grab my lemon scented Lysol and fill the air with clean happiness.

Mother's Day in Thirteen Minutes.

Oh! I have about thirteen minutes to write something.
That's how my life has felt this first week of work. I live by minutes. If I am miraculously eighteen minutes early for work I take it as a prime opportunity to do the grocery shopping. Yes, I may have turned into a  chicken with it's head cut off but at least the fridge is full.
But really, it's been awesome. I love working. I think, maybe when I have three free minutes, I might "privatize" the blog just in case for the sake of my job. I have a reputation of saying the darnedest things on here! But I want you all to stay with me so as soon as I figure out how it all works, what with the secret passwords or whatnot, I will be sure to let you know!
Today is Mother's Day, and boy has it been a doosey! Joey is working all day. It wouldn't be so bad except I keep getting texts and messages on facebook about how I should be getting spoiled and pampered, which is not happening. I did however stop by Walgreens and picked up a set of press-on nails and some new light pink summer time lipstick. Pitiful but it makes me happy.
And then of course there's my children. This morning as I laid in bed, thinking about single-momming it all day on Mother's Day and wallowing in self pity, Ethan came in with a card he had made at school that he has been just dying to give me all last week. He'd say stuff to me like, "MOM! There is this really cool card I made but I can't tell you who it's for. So don't ask me, alright?"
So this morning he finally got to give me the really cool card and it was very pink and sweet. His handwriting gives me the same feeling I get holding a new baby.
Then I came out to the table and there were little pipe cleaner flowers made from Noah's tiny hands. And to top it off, coming out the bedroom right before we were to go to church, Ethan told me (sitting in the laundry basket) "You look pretty mom."
So really, I have nothing to complain about here.
Going back to work has been much easier than I had anticipated. I had a month to get things in order and totally became a freak case of guilt and anxiety over what going back to work "full time" would do to my children. Turns out they didn't die, or turn into vegetables, or hate me. Well, maybe Noah hates me. But he's pretty crabby all round these days.
In fact, his first day in day care ever, he reached out for the caregiver from my arms.Not even a whimper. All you mothers out there can sympathize with how heartbreaking this was for me as a mom, as well as a little embarrassing. I checked back on him five minutes later, thinking for sure he'd be screaming and clawing for the door but instead he was just really interested in the play dough.
I had to just walk out and let it go.
And...my thirteen minutes are up. Happy Mother's Day.