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Sleep’s Overrated, Anyway…

When Marc was a toddler his older brothers used to call him the “Night Crawler.” I knew I was in for it from that point on. Marc always had trouble falling and even staying asleep. Having three boys, I innately understood that if I had enough children, I would experience one of everything, the picky eater, the biter, the crier, the spitter and yes, even the night crawler. I never imagined that Marc’s sleeping problems would continue throughout his life and worsen in his teenage years, ultimately contributing to my lifelong exhaustion.

One Sunday night, before I had the opportunity to begin my usual “because it’s a school night” lecture, Marc came into my bedroom at 9 PM announcing that he was going to bed. As he walked out of my bedroom door and into his own room I was elated. Should I read or go to sleep, I thought…this was too good to be true.

The house was finally quiet, for once. I decided to slide under the covers and spend some much-needed “me time” engrossed in a good book. I was joyous!  It was hard to believe that two hours had passed when I heard Marc’s bedroom door open.

“Mom, I’m uncomfortable in my bed. I’m going to sleep on the couch.” Marc stated.

I replied, “Okay, but get to sleep. You have school tomorrow.”

I went back to reading my book but my mother’s intuition kept nudging me. It was then I realized that I hadn’t told Marc good night. Maybe I’ll just go downstairs and give him a kiss on the head. I quietly walked down the dark staircase from my bedroom to the living room. I approached the couch and leaned over to kiss Marc on the head…wait where was his head…it was covered in blankets.I felt for Marc’s shoulders then down his back. I yelled for my fiance’ John.

“John, come down here!”

John made his way down the stairs and into the dark living room.

“Where is Marc?” I asked.

“Right here.” John replied as he reached for Marc’s body on the couch “I can feel his legs.”

“Can you?” I asked John as I turned on the living room light and pulled back the covers.

Image may contain: indoor

There on the couch were Marc’s joggers stuffed with clean folded and rolled bathroom towels.

“He isn’t even home!” I shouted as I ran back upstairs to grab my cell phone.

I was both upset and concerned as I dialed Marc’s cell phone number. No answer. What parent doesn’t love to call their teenager’s cell phone (which they pay for) and get sent straight to voicemail, especially at a time like this and on a school night.

Time to go to plan B, I thought. I sent Marc a text stating that the cops were looking for him. Now I just had to wait.

Five minutes later Marc flew into the house.

“Mom, mom, mom, I’m sorry. You didn’t call the cops did you? I couldn’t sleep. I was only at my friend’s house across the street.” Marc stated with fear in his eyes.

“You are lucky that I didn’t…this time. Don’t you ever do that again! Now go to your room and go to bed. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” I replied.

I had to chuckle to myself a bit as Marc walked up the staircase to his bedroom. I always thought that as a parent, I would be one step ahead of my kids at all times. I guess I was wrong.  Maybe I could be…if I could just get some more sleep.

 

 

 

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Why You Should Care About Historic Homes

I spent twenty years in an abusive marriage before finally leaving in January 2010. My three sons and I have endured a great amount of trauma and pain which has had long-lasting effects on all of us. I’ve come to realize that unfortunately, what you leave is also what you take with you. It hasn’t been an easy road. My youngest son, Marc, has had the most difficult time dealing not only with what transpired in my marriage, but with my divorce from his father. Marc struggles with anxiety and depression and he also has ADHD. Everyday presents a new set of challenges that most parents couldn’t even fathom.

On a beautiful spring day when Marc was eleven years old, he returned from school clutching a handful of paperwork while impatiently yelling my name.

“Mom, mom, mom!” Marc bellowed.

“Hold on, honey. I’m on the phone.” I replied.

I was on the phone with a friend of my father’s, Melanie Marks, founder of Connecticut House Histories. At the time, my father, Edward Collins, was devoting a great amount of his time, passion and effort into trying to save Gustave Whitehead’s historic home in Fairfield, Connecticut, from demolition. For those of you who don’t know, Gustave Whitehead was an aviation pioneer who made history’s first manned, powered, controlled, sustained flight in a heavier-than-air aircraft in Bridgeport, Connecticut, two years before the Wright Brothers flight at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina. My mother’s grandmother, Mary Savage (Jusewicz) was one of eighteen witness’s to Whitehead’s flight, so my family has an interest in preserving Whitehead’s historical home and legacy.

I had to end my conversation with Melanie more abruptly than I would have preferred, but Marc’s urgent pleas could not be put off any longer. Ironically, Marc had just returned from a school trip to visit the Osborne Homestead Museum, a historic house located in Derby, Connecticut. (pictured above)

“What’s up, Marc?” I asked.

Marc asked, “Mom do we have carrots, corn, celery, potatoes and chicken broth?”

Confused, I opened the refrigerator and took a quick inventory.

“Yes, Marc, we actually do,” I said, while I checked the kitchen cabinet for chicken broth. “Why are you asking?”

Marc unrolled the papers that were clenched in his sweaty fist and handed them to me. I stared at a wrinkled recipe that boasted it would make, “Enough to feed a large colonial family.”

“Where did you get this?” I inquired.

Marc replied, “Mom, I had the best day! We went on a school trip, visited this old house and I learned how people lived in colonial times. This is what they ate. I even saw the kitchen that they cooked in. It was awesome! I’m making dinner tonight…and dessert,” he added, handing me another recipe for an apple cobbler dessert.

“Do we have the stuff to make this too?” he asked, “Do we?”

Glancing over the second recipe, I surmised that we also had all of the ingredients to make the dessert.

I nodded my head, yes. Marc had never shown an interest, and had no experience in cooking for that matter either, especially not dinner and dessert, I thought.

“Okay, get everything out that I need,” Marc stated, “but I’m doing it all by myself.”

“Marc, these recipes are entirely from scratch,” I explained, as I started grabbing all of the ingredients, pots, pans, measuring cups and utensils that he would need.

Marc replied, “I know mom, I can do it. Tell everyone that I’m making dinner.”

“Okay, Marc,” I replied, “but I’m going to stay and watch you,  just in case there are any questions. And to make sure that you don’t cut yourself. In fact, if you cook, I’ll clean the kitchen!”

Marc gave me a quick smile as he carefully read the first recipe so he could perform each step. Marc began chopping the carrots, then the celery and moved onto the daunting task of peeling the potatoes while his large pot of broth began boiling on the stove. My eldest son, Kevin, walked in the room, took one look around and asked, “What’s going on?”

“Marc is making dinner for the family tonight.”

“And dessert.” Marc added.

Kevin yelled for my middle son, Eric (Whose nickname is Rocky). “Rocky, come here, you have got to see this!” Kevin laughed.

Seconds later Rocky flew into the room. “What’s going on?” he asked Kevin.

Kevin replied with a chuckle, “Marc is making dinner tonight.”

“And dessert.” Marc added.

“Well, I’m not eating it.” Rocky stated with a snicker.

As they left the kitchen, I heard Kevin yell, “Good luck, Marc.”

Two and a half hours (and one destroyed kitchen) later, with flour, dirty dishes and scattered remnants of vegetables everywhere…both dinner and dessert were finally prepared. The soup was ready and the cobbler was in the oven. Marc looked as disheveled as the kitchen when he exhaustedly stated, “That was a lot of work.”

“Not as easy as throwing a Hot Pocket in the microwave, is it?” I asked, as Marc and I set the table together.

“No way!” Marc replied, before becoming a bit nervous about his dinner tonight. “Mom, do you think it’s going to be any good?”

I have to admit, although messy, the kitchen smelled wonderful. “Marc, your soup looks delicious and it smells even better,” I replied, “Don’t worry, everyone is going to love it.”

Excitedly, Marc called his brothers for dinner. Reluctantly they came. We sat at the table while Marc filled each of our bowls and served us the first meal that he had ever made entirely on his own. The soup was delicious! Both Kevin and Rocky praised Marc endlessly as they asked for second helpings. Marc beamed as he served each of his brothers more of his colonial soup.

Over dinner Marc told us all about his day and what he had learned about the Osborne family. He mentioned that the lady at the Osborne Homestead said the Osborne family was buried close by, then Marc asked if I would take him to the cemetery to visit their grave-sites.

As dinner was winding down, the timer on the oven went off signaling that Marc’s apple cobbler was done.

“What was that?” Rocky asked.

“That’s my dessert!” Marc replied.

“You made dessert too?” Rocky smiled, “This kid is amazing!”

Kevin added, “I have to hand it to you Marc, I’m impressed. I didn’t think you could do all of this by yourself!”

The smell of baked apples and brown sugar filled the air as Marc served his homemade apple cobbler with a side of whipped cream. Everyone was in heaven as we talked, laughed and devoured our dessert.

“Marc, you did it!” I said, giving him a big hug.

“Thanks, Mom. Are you still going to clean the kitchen?” Marc asked, as he glanced over at the disaster that awaited me.

“Yes Marc, I am. Thank you for making a wonderful meal.” I said.

“I love you Mom.” Marc replied.

“I love you too, Marc. And I’m really proud of you!” I said.

I am so grateful to the Shelton School system for giving my child the opportunity to visit the Osborne Homestead. I would also like to take this opportunity to thank the Osborne Homestead for the wonderful learning experience and subsequent inspiration that they provided for my son. It is truly priceless.

I am deeply saddened that Gustave Whitehead’s self-built home in Fairfield was not preserved and saved from demolition, nor were P.T. Barnum’s Home, Tom Thumb’s Home or the Wheeler Mansion, to name just a few.

In a world of YouTube, Netflix and video games, are we as parents offering our children the best learning experiences available to them?

I say my son’s experience at the Osborne Homestead answers the above question with a definitive “No.”  It is important to value, preserve, visit and donate to ensure the continued care of the historical homes in our state for ourselves and future generations. I know I will.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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A Valentine’s Day Twist (As Told From the Perspective of Your Waitress)

I’ve worked in a restaurant most of my life. I enjoy people and serving the public. Doing so has helped me to develop amazing interpersonal skills and also an array of great stories. Through the years, Valentine’s Day has been a busy holiday and a standard couples night out.

Walking into any restaurant on Valentine’s Day, you’ll be sure to see tables filled with adorable couples, blissfully in love, sharing a bottle of wine. How romantic, right? Wait, maybe you’re not seeing the entire picture, like I am…your local waitress.

Allow me to give you the inside scoop…

Filet mignon, lobster tails, baked stuffed shrimp, rack of lamb, flowing drinks, roses and intimate conversation like this…

Table 2:

Me: “Here’s your appetizer,” as I set down the plate. “Jumbo shrimp cocktail.”

Wife to me: “Thank you.”

Wife to husband: “MY mother gave ME the money and if I want to buy a new ottoman, I’ll buy a new ottoman!”

Husband: Frowning, “Whatever you want dear.”

Oh boy, I think.

Table 3: 

Me: “Hi. Excuse me.”

Couple: No response

Nevermind, these two need to go and get a room, I think.

Table 1:

Husband: “Excuse me. Can I get another drink?”

Me: “Yes.” I reply, thinking that’s his third one.

Table 4:

Me: “Hi! Can I get you something to drink?”

Female guest: “Yes, a…glass of pinot grigio.”

Oh God. She’s crying, I say to myself.

It’s peak dinner time and the house is packed. I bring table 2 their entrees and they’re arguing. I return to table 4 and realize that his date has left as he places an order for himself, while looking embarrassed.

This night is a mess, I think. Well, it couldn’t possibly get any worse.

As I’m at the computer entering an order, the wife at table 1 gets up to use the lady’s room. Moments later I feel someone pulling at my apron near the side of my  waist.

Drunk guy from table 1: “Hey, beautiful! What are you doing later?”

This guy’s wife is in the lady’s room. You have got to be kidding me.

Valentine’s Day is full of hope and expectation of the perfect romantic evening, the perfect connection. In my perspective, you can’t conjure up that romance or that connection. Valentine’s Day isn’t about doing what’s expected or trying to show your love one night out of the year, it’s about celebrating your love every day of the year.

Whether you spend Valentine’s Day out at a fancy restaurant, or home in your pj’s eating chinese food and watching Netflix, give the one you love the best you have to offer…every single day.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Love,

Your local waitress

 

What is your favorite Valentine’s Day story? Share it here.

 

 

 

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Sharing this blog post by Joelle Wisler from Scary Mommy. I love this article! Great relationship advice, humor and writing. Well worth the read!

I worked as a physical therapist for about 15 years, which means I’ve met my share of senior citizens. Injuries don’t discriminate, so I’ve had the pleasure of meeting older folks of all types: healthy, struggling, happy, grumpy, rich, poor, motivated, reluctant, married, widowed, divorced. They brought with them years and years of life experiences. As I worked out…

via Forget Suzanne Venker’s Advice About ‘Beta’ Women, Please. Listen To This Instead. — Scary Mommy

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Rise to Criticize

Rise to Criticize

via Daily Prompt: Criticize

Never in my life did I fathom that the three adorable little babies that I brought into this world would grow into three handsome teenagers that now, apparently, know more than I do.

Okay, so I was a teenager once too and I do remember snickering when my dad imparted his unwarranted, fatherly advice which usually started with sentences like…”You know, life isn’t a bowl of cherries…” and “This isn’t a place just to hang your hat…” Each sentence was followed by what I took as criticism.

Fast forward to 2017 and from the moment my sons rise in the morning it’s an ongoing life lesson orchestrated by the sound of my own voice. I stare at their blank faces while I try to explain the reason they should see, or act on situations in life a certain way. (Cue deep sighs and eyerolls)

My points, no matter how eloquently expressed, are met with statements like, “Maybe that worked back in the olden days.”(Note: Which was the 80’s, by the way) or “Mom, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” (Note: Of course I do.)

Yet we all know that the age-old struggle between parents and teenagers will never cease to exist.

I was well into my adulthood the day that I called my dad and said, “Hi dad. I get it now… Life isn’t easy and when I think about all the advice you gave me growing up, I wish I had listened. You were right about everything.”

I could hear the smile in my dad’s voice as he replied.

“That’s nice to hear! I love you honey.”

I replied, ” I Love you too dad.”

I’m not fortunate enough to have my dad anymore…but I hope one day my sons will each wake up to the same realization that I came to and that I will receive the same beautiful phone call, three times over.

The other thing that will never cease to exist is the realization that what teenagers see as constant harping and criticism, is actually the deepest form of love.

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B.O.G.O Before the Big Snow

The threat of a snow storm, or even a snow flurry sends throes of panicked consumers straight to the grocery store to stock up on eggs, milk, bread, toilet paper and a laundry list of enough items to potentially topple an average grocery cart. I’m not judging. I must admit, once before a potentially big snow storm hit (and after purchasing my first brand new deep freezer) I found myself among the frantic shoppers at the classic buy one get one / buy one get two free sale.

Upon arriving at the store, the sky was clear and John and I joyfully grabbed two carts on a mission to stock our new freezer. Together we covered every aisle as the merchandise mounted. Buy one bag of chicken wings, get two free. One package of hot dogs, get two free. Better get some hot dog buns. Also on sale…Milk,  buy one get two free soda, coffee, half and half, eggs, chips, cookies, ice cream… oh,hot pockets…the kids will love that…better get some meat…steaks…wait, buy one bag of potatoes, get two free? This is fun!

Before we knew it two hours had passed and we couldn’t fit another item in either of our carts. “Do you think that we’ll have enough money for all of this?”  I asked John as I dug my heels into the floor to push the cart into the checkout line.

“Sure will we.” John confidently replied.

The cashier looked fear-struck when I stated that we were together, while  I began to place some of our items on the belt.

Finally, the grand total before discounts, $500. I am sure that my expression now mimicked that of the cashiers, as I stared at the total.

John handed the store card to the cashier. Once the discounts were applied, our total was now $250. I was elated and so proud of what we had accomplished. It is no easy feat to feed three teenage boys under any circumstances, any day of the week.

Victoriously, we pushed and pulled, what was now three carts of bagged groceries out into…four inches of snow.

After loading the car to the hilt, we began our slippery ride home. Finally approaching our neighborhood, we took on the first small incline. Our car slid and started to do a 180 as my cell phone rang. Oh God, it was Marc, the youngest and least patient of my children.

“Hello?” I nervously answered as I simultaneously directed John to go another route.

“Mom, mom, mom, where are you guys?” Marc bellowed into the phone.

I replied, “Marc, we’re trying to get home.”

“You’re lying and I’m starving!” Marc argued.

“Marc, I am not lying,” I stated.”We are going to need all of you boys to help with the groceries. I have to get off the phone.”

“Mom, don’t hang up. What did you get?” Marc asked.

“A lot.” I replied and hung up the phone.

On the third try, we made it to level ground but we weren’t home yet. We still had another massive hill to climb. As we began the ascent, our car began to quickly slide backwards. John was confident that with the weight of all the groceries (regardless of our lack of snow tires) we could make it. I was already shutting my eyes, clenching my teeth and fighting back tears as we once again tried to make the crest of the hill. Faced with an oncoming car on a narrow road we slid back to the bottom of the hill. After a brief and stressful argument, John hit the gas and tried to make the hill for the final time. The snow was thick as we slid back down, trying to avoid a car parked at the bottom.

“That’s it!” I yelled, “Park the car!”

John replied, “What about all of the groceries?”

“I don’t know,” I said, “We’ll have to carry them up.”

Getting out of the car we grabbed as much as we could and began a slippery trek up the huge hill.

“I can not believe this!” I said as I tried to keep my footing. “For once in my life I have $500 worth of groceries and this happens.”

John stifles a laugh as he says, “Don’t worry, we have teenage boys to help us. Ya know, they’re gonna to want to eat.”

Once inside, freezing and covered in snow, I yell and try to round-up the troops. True to form on the return from any given shopping day, Kevin is in the shower. Great.

Thankfully, Eric and Marc have some friends over (whom they never asked me if they could invite) but I say nothing, as I’m actually happy for the extra manpower at this moment.

Forty minutes later and multiple slippery trips up our steep hill of a road, all of the groceries are finally in the house.

Exhausted, I have to laugh. My life I swear…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Top 10 Ridiculously Relatable Real Motherhood Moments

I’ve caved and succumbed to the latest popular blog craze…the top ten list. Apparently life is so busy, and the majority of people have so little time, that any kind of numerical list is preferable to having to read an entire article. I can certainly deliver…just expect that even my list will carry the same humor and perspective that makes my blogs worth reading.

Ready?

Top 10 Ridiculously Relatable Real Motherhood Moments:

  1. The Diapering Challenge – Any mom worth her weight will tell you that she has managed to diaper her child in a gas station bathroom, on a trip, while balancing her baby on the top of her thigh. This takes skill. Not to mention, an experienced mom could fasten a diaper on a standing, moving child any day of the week.
  2. Inappropriate Baby Talk – Your first night out postpartum may entail you’re telling the waitress that your drink tastes “Yucky.”  As soon as the words leave your mouth you no longer feel like an adult that should be out in the real world…no worries, it’s par for the course.
  3. Safety First – Eight years of car seats lined up across the back seat of a mini van. Finally your youngest is ready for a booster seat and you are almost home free. Then your youngest receives a Toys r Us  gift card for his birthday and he can buy whatever he wants. Unfortunately, what he wants is a baby doll that he names George. George comes well equipped with a mini stroller and a car seat. Is there no end to this madness?
  4. Where Did This Come From? Three kids running around the grocery store while you’re checking your list and shuffling through your coupons can only lead to disaster. Keep the faith while you hold up the checkout line removing all of the items that your kids threw in the carriage while you weren’t looking. Who knew a three-year old could lift a metal gallon of extra virgin olive oil into a cart?
  5. For the Love of Independence! So sweet to let your child save all of his change in a zip lock bag and learn how to purchase a toy on his own. Such a proud consumer moment, except for the annoyed cashier and the woman behind you that’s on her lunch hour.  Cringe. Sorry…but not really.
  6. Oh My God! He was Just Right Here! – Most mom’s hate to admit it but we have all lost our children in a store, a mall or at an amusement park. You can taste the fear in your throat while you argue with your significant other about whose fault it is, only to find your child happily playing a video game in the arcade.
  7. Did He Really Just Say That? – While in public, your child growls at a woman in a thick, black fur coat while curling his fingers into claws, or he decides to point and loudly refer to the feminine looking man next to you as “That Lady…” Either way you have to smile and suck it up.  Yeah, motherhood!
  8. It’s In Here Somewhere –  You’re at the bank when the teller asks for your ID. After removing four action figures, a few matchbox cars, two happy meal toys and a half eaten cookie, you’re still looking. Ignore the eye-roll. You’re a good mom.
  9. For the Love of Laundry –  Okay, admit it. You have washed everything. When I say everything, I mean everything…rocks, chewing gum, crayons, markers, action figures, cell phones and birth certificates. If you laughed and shook your head yes while reading this list, yet still have more to add, you are definitely a seasoned mom!
  10. Just Smile & Ignore Them –  Let’s face it, our kids come first. So what if your son is at the grocery store in full Santa attire ( Santa Suit, boots, gloves & Santa hat) in July when it’s 90 degrees. People may stare but at least they don’t have to wash costumes year round, like you do. Let them think what they want.

Being a mom isn’t for that faint of heart…in fact it’s for the women with the biggest hearts of all! Carry on. You’re doing GREAT!!

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Three’s a Crowd

When I was pregnant with my third child, I experienced several very bizarre interactions with complete strangers. As I waddled around the mall or local supermarket with a protruding belly and two boys in tow, a woman approached me and said, “I see that you have your hands full. Just wait.” Then she walked away.

Odd. “What the hell was that all about?” I thought.

I didn’t pay her any mind and chalked her up as a person who was a bit tainted.

Not long after, on a similar shopping trip, my slow pregnant self, chasing after 2 active boys in public turned into another unbelievable encounter. “Wait. You’re going to  be really outnumbered,” a strange woman said with a laugh and walked away.

Seriously. What is going on and why are strangers voicing their opinions to me? I thought as my tolerance wavered.

If all of that wasn’t weird enough, on yet another excursion, a woman approached me and said out of nowhere, “The third one is the one that will put you over the edge.”

I had completely lost my patience for other people’s opinions and quite frankly, I was starting to get pissed off.

How rude! I thought.

Who in the hell do these people think they are to comment on how many children I have or what having 3 children would be like?

Little did I know…

It wasn’t easy getting three kids dressed and in the car for Marc’s newborn visit at the pediatrician. Actually, truth be told, I felt like I had already run a 5k and just for the record, I looked like it. Finally, I had the baby, Marc, Kevin (5 1/2 years old and Eric 2 1/2 years old) strapped in and ready to go.  

We arrived at the pediatrician’s office ten minutes late. Not bad, considering that Marc pooped after being fastened in the baby carrier and Eric had completely undressed himself while I changed Marc’s diaper. Kevin insisted on bringing all of the X-men figures ( two of which were lost under the sofa). Nevertheless, I did it. I had gotten all three boys to the doctor’s office for Marc’s 6 week check up. Victory!

I managed to get the baby, the diaper bag, Kevin, Eric and all of the X-Men safely into the waiting area. I was already exhausted, not to mention hungry, and hoping to get this over as soon as humanly possible.

Thank God the baby was fast asleep from the car ride and that Eric only screamed for a minute as I pulled him off the chair near the fish tank as they called Marc’s name.

Once in the examination room, the nurse asked me to undress Marc and lie him on the scale so that she could get his weight.

As soon as Marc’s naked flesh hit the cold metal scale he screamed. As soon as Marc screamed, Eric began to cry.

Suddenly, the lights went off. I couldn’t see my screaming 6 week old son on the scale. The nurse had spotted Kevin near the light switch before the lights had gone out and yelled, “Turn the lights back on!”

Eric screamed louder.

Unable to move from the baby on the scale, I understood that the nurse was yelling because Kevin had turned the lights out.

The lights flicked on for a brief moment, then out again. I saw Kevin’s tiny hand on the light switch. “Kevin, turn the lights back on!” I yelled, while Eric and the baby screamed in fear.

I jumped as the nurse yelled at the top of her lungs, “Turn the lights on now!”

Finally, the doctor entered, flipped the lights on and asked the nurse to step outside.

Oh God, all of the screaming. She’s going to get fired, I thought.

The doctor entered and completed Marc’s entire exam. At the end he turned to me and said, “Ma’am, I think it would be better if you only brought your children in for a visit one at a time.”

I nodded in embarrassment as he handed me the paper with Marc’s height and weight on it.

As we were walking to the desk to schedule Marc’s next appointment, I pulled Kevin aside.

“Kevin, you could have gotten that nurse fired. Why, when mommy and the nurse were yelling to turn on the light…why didn’t you listen, why didn’t you turn on the light?” I asked.

With his head down, Kevin replied, ” Mommy, when the kids aren’t being quiet at school, my teacher always turns off the light.”

So maybe I do have my hands full. Maybe I am outnumbered… Or maybe the third one just put me over the edge…

But I just think that three’s a crowd…well at least at the doctor’s office.

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Flying By the Seat of My Pants

As a mom, I’d like to say that I have it all together, but I know that most days, I’m just flying by the seat of my pants. I consider myself a seasoned multitask-er, in fact, I pride myself on it. Yet try as I may, It’s hard to pinpoint when I went from handling all of the challenges of home, work and kids to just winging it.

If I’m being honest with myself, I’d have to say I lost a little ground with each beautiful life that I brought into this world. Sleep deprivation is a tactic used on prisoners of war and also a staple of motherhood. After my first son was born, I thought I was doing great. The house was clean, laundry was folded and vacuuming the rug was next on my list. I spent 40 minutes looking for the powdered, shake on carpet freshener that I loved to apply to the carpets before I vacuumed. I eventually gave up looking for it, chalked it up as a lost cause, and (cringe) vacuumed the rugs without it. It wasn’t until the baby woke up for his next feeding that I found the carpet freshener perfectly chilled next to the baby bottles in the refrigerator. Could I really be that tired?

Fast-forward to raising teens,  and I’m pretty sure that I had slept more during the infant stages of my sons’ lives. Now, I pace the floor, lie in bed staring at both the ceiling and the clock, all the while repeatedly calling their cell phones, unanswered, until well past 1 a.m. Am I ever going to get any sleep?

On one morning in particular, (which is just one example of a day in my life) I woke up to Eric’s groaning announcement, “Mom, I puked in the tub!” What better way to start your day at 6 a.m.?

But wait there’s more…

There is always more.

The usual morning argument with Marc has begun as I am trying to call the high school to report Eric’s absence.

“Mom, I missed the bus! Can you drive me?” Marc yells.

“Okay, you have to wait a minute. I’m on the phone with Eric’s school,” I reply. I then finish cleaning the puke, wash up, throw my hair in what I call a “mommy clip” and grab a fresh pair of jeans from the clean laundry basket that I’ve yet to fold.

On the heels of my third consecutive night of work, I am up at sunrise and once again making the twenty-minute trek to the middle school. I drop the grouchy “morning Marc” off saying, “I love you honey. Have a good day!” and drive the twenty minutes back home.

Just in the door, my phone rings. It’s the school. Are you kidding me?

“Mom. I forgot my gym clothes,” I hear Marc say. “Can you bring them?”

“Yes, Marc.” I say while thinking just the opposite.

Driving back to the school all can think about is lying down. I have to work again tonight. I just want a little rest.

The only parking space available at the middle school is a block from the front door. I shiver in the cold the entire way until they buzz me in. I make a stop at the security desk, sign in and am greeted by a security guard who, of course, knows my name.

“How are you today?” He chirps.

“Living the dream,” I reply.

I enter the main office and I am warmly greeted by the secretaries and the school principal who instruct me to bring Marc’s gym clothes to the nurse’s office.

Back in my car, I glance at the clock. No sense in lying back down now. Maybe I’ll stop and get a cup of coffee at the corner gas station near my house. I am counting down the hours until I have to be in work while I’m factoring in all of the things that I need to get done today.

While I’m at the coffee station preparing my fresh, hot cup of morning java (my first of the day), a man walks in. I notice that he’s looking at me. The morning bustle at the store begins to peak at the coffee station and I have the unsettling feeling that all eyes are upon me. “Should I feel uncomfortable or flattered?” I think, as yet another man gives me the once over, looking me up and down.

Maybe I’m just rocking this no make-up and mommy clip thing, I start thinking…

Until…I glance down at my leg and notice that I have a hot pink pair of satin and lace panties stuck in the cuff of my pant leg, and static cling against the front of my shin.

All eyes are still on me (and I’m pretty sure that my face matched the shade of my lace panties) as I attempt a discreet peeling of the panties from my leg and stuff them into my purse.

Maybe they were all thinking that I had a  night of unbridled passion or an amazing one night stand.

I’ll just let them keep guessing. I know that I’m just flying by the seat of my pants…

…and those pants just happen to be satin, lace, and hot pink.