Thanks for all your encouraging posts about my 'bad' day. I think we all know that we're not the only one who goes through this stuff, but when you're in the middle of it, it feels like you are totally alone! And it also feels like it will last forever. Thankfully mine hasn't. I know it will come back. It always does aye?! LOL. But for now things are ok.
I think two things changed.
Me and me. LOL. I remember listening to Michael J Fox in an interview one time. He was talking about having Parkinsons and being happy and how you have to wake up every morning and CHOOSE how you are going to be that day. You choose to be happy and confident. You choose to deal with situations better. It doesn't mean life doesn't throw crap at you, just that you choose to deal with it better.
So I choose to be confident and happy. And it worked.
I also realised that with all the move, Xmas, NY, packing and unpacking etc etc etc I just hadn't spent much time with my babies. We had been running around like headless chickens trying to get everything done. Now, that's not unusal, LOL, but kids can't handle that. They need some of our undivided attention each and every day. Even just 15 mins according to one study I've heard about.
So Thurs afternoon I stood and pushed the kids on their swings. We chatted about flying and touching the spiders webs (note to self - get rid of spiders webs, one day), we pretended we were birds and flapped our wings to go higher and higher. We did 'high 5's' with our feet and I managed to relax and laugh with them. It was magical. Something so simple. And I learnt from it.
So that's our little world back on the right axis. For now. Whew.
Hey, I reread an email I got from a friend at Xmas time yesterday. It was really funny and so appropriate for us tired and harassed mothers, so I decided I just had to share it. Ok, ok, so its out of date now, but its really relevant to my current ramblings so here you go....
Dear Santa,
I've been a good mum all year. I've fed, cleaned and cuddled my children
on demand, visited the doctor's office more than my doctor, sold
sixty-two cases of candy bars to raise money to plant a shade tree on
the school playground. I was hoping you could spread my list out over
several Christmases, since I had to write this letter with my son's red
crayon, on the back of a receipt in the laundry room between cycles, and
who knows when I'll find anymore free time in the next 18 years.
Here are my Christmas wishes:
I'd like a pair of legs that don't ache (in any color, except purple,
which I already have) and arms that don't hurt or flap in the breeze;
but are strong enough to pull my screaming child out of the candy aisle
in the grocery store. I'd also like a waist, since I lost mine
somewhere in the seventh month of my last pregnancy.
If you're hauling big ticket items this year I'd like fingerprint
resistant windows and a radio that only plays adult music; a television
that doesn't broadcast any programs containing talking animals; and a
refrigerator with a secret compartment behind the crisper where I can
hide to talk on the phone.
On the practical side, I could use a talking doll that says, "Yes,
Mommy" to boost my parental confidence, along with two kids who don't
fight and three pairs of jeans that will zip all the way up without the
use of power tools.
I could also use a recording of Tibetan monks chanting "Don't eat in the
living room" and "Take your hands off your brother," because my voice
seems to be just out of my children's hearing range and can only be
heard by the dog.
If it's too late to find any of these products, I'd settle for enough
time to brush my teeth and comb my hair in the same morning, or the
luxury of eating food warmer than room temperature without it being
served in a Styrofoam container.
If you don't mind, I could also use a few Christmas miracles to brighten
the holiday season. Would it be too much trouble to declare ketchup a
vegetable?
It will clear my conscience immensely. It would be helpful if you could
coerce my children to help around the house without demanding payment as
if they were the bosses of an organized crime family.
Well, Santa, the buzzer on the dryer is ringing and my son saw my feet
under the laundry room door. I think he wants his crayon back.
Have a safe trip and remember to leave your wet boots by the door and
come in and dry off so you don't catch cold.
Help yourself to cookies on the table but don't eat too many or leave
crumbs on the carpet.
Yours Always, MUM...!
P.S. One more thing...you can cancel all my requests if you can keep my
children young enough to believe in Santa for many years to come.
Thanks for hanging out with me. ta ta for now.
PS: Heres a pic of Dan and I hanging out