Sometimes, I suck.

I am many things.  I am a woman. I am a wife.  I am a mother. I am a friend, a sister-in-law, a daugther-in-law, a daughter, a cousin.

Sometimes, I suck at one of these.  Sometimes all of them.

I have the moments when all I want is 20 minutes to myself  and I can't have them.

I have the days where I snap at my husband, getting irrationally annoyed with him. 

I have the days where I just don't want to do anything -- no cleaning, no cooking, no walking up stairs.  I just want to sit on my ass.

I have the days where I yell at my kids when I really shouldn't.  When I lose my temper or patience too quickly.   When I don't listen to their little voices, where I make them cry.

There are so many things I do day in, day out.  Things I don't even think about, and if you asked me to list the things I do on a daily basis, I'd be hard pressed to tell you half of them, they are just so subconscious.

I try to be the best wife I can be.  The best mom I can be.  Sometimes, most of the time, I succeed.

Other times I fail.

I never want to be the cause of my husband's pain or happiness.

I never want to be the cause of my children's tears. 

There are so many things I can't control in this world that will burden them with pain and sadness. I can control that I am not one of those things.

Because even when I lose my temper or my patience, even when I am not the mother I want to be, those little arms still hug me.  Those little voices still tell me they love me.

And my husband stands by me.

So sometimes I suck.  But I'm trying not to.

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The first ER visit

Saturday was a beautiful day.  The kids and I were outside.  Husband was inside, finishing up some last minute things for his graduation on this coming Saturday. 

The kids were playing with water blasters.  I was skimming the pool.

I suddenly heard a terrible scream.

Not a normal scream.

Not a "I tripped and hurt my leg" scream.

Not a "I banged my arm on the deck" scream.

I ran to PJ who was crying, screaming. 

"WHAT HAPPENED BABY??"

I look and see a gash.  About an inch and half, bleeding, on his upper back between his shoulder and his neck.

It's deep, it's bleeding and it's wide. 

I scream for John.

Through tears, PJ tells me he cut it on the grill.

The corner of the metal tray of our grill.  He must have went under it -- and with no shirt on.

I know you're supposed to stay calm when your child is upset.  I lost it.

"We have to go to the ER.  I have to go now.  Can you take Maggie?"

I couldn't make sense.  I got PJ dressed as quickly as I could.  John was going to follow with Maggie and after he took care of our puppy.

I let PJ sit in the front seat with me.  I held his hand.  He was so sad.  I was sad.  My poor baby.

We've never been to our "new" hospital.  Since we moved. 

They were extremely nice.  We waited about 15 minutes till we were seen.

Once we went through triage and settled in a room, John had to leave -- he had tickets to the Game 5 of the Blackhawks/Kings series.  Expensive tickets.  I told him to go.  I would handle it.  I'm a mom. 

He felt terrible, but he went.

My poor bubba needed six stitches.  :(

He was so brave.  He screamed and cries so hard when they gave him the numbing agent (it was a big needled) and  I cried with him and held his hand.  I talked to him through the stitches, told him we would go to the toy store and have pizza for dinner.

My tough little guy.

When it was done, Maggie (who'd been pretty much frozen in her spot since PJ had screamed) went up to her big brother and said

"Don't you get hurt again PJ!"

"I won't Maggie."
It was the scariest thing that's ever happened to me.  He's fine, he'll have a scar and he's handling it better than I did and am.

I just know I never want to feel that way again.

Six stitches and a turtle toy later.

Shh, it's a secret.

http://savethedramaforyourmamaandpush.blogspot.com/

You need to get my permission.

Thanks, Bec, for the idea.

Peeing

PJ got in trouble at school yesterday.

For peeing.

Outside.

On a tree.

At school.

Because his mom taught him it's okay to pee outside on a tree -- you know, if we're driving and he has to go, and there's no bathroom, or we're outside playing.

MOTY.

When you can't call Mom

I've been thinking about this a lot lately, but this post on Scary Mommy inspired me to write this today.

I missed my mom a lot yesterday.  I miss her every day, of course, but yesterday was one of those days.

It was Memorial Day.  She would always have a BBQ on Memorial Day, Labor Day, whatever.  We'd go there, she'd make way too much food, encourage us to drink too much.  She and I would end up going shopping somewhere where she'd undoubtedly buy something for me -- a shirt, something for my kitchen, whatever it might be.

It's hard being a mom without having your own mom to talk to.

I do have my stepdad, but he never had his own kids.  He came into our lives when I was nearly 8.  So he has no memories or stories, no advice or experiences, with kids under 8, and even then, he tried to stay out of the parenting, and let my mom do it.

I hear many of my friends talking about their moms.

"My mom said I did the same thing."

"My mom told me to try this."

"My mom just laughed at me."
I never got to share the experience of being a mom with my mom.  She was diagnosed with ALS before PJ was three months old.  She started to lose her ability to speak/communicate about a year later.  I never wanted to bother her with issues with PJ -- she was dealing with a fatal disease.

I have my mother in law.  While she's great, and has really stepped up since I lost my mom, she's not MY mom.  Luckily, she understands that she will never replace my mom.

I think back to my childhood.  We lived with my grandparents till my grandmother passed away when I was 18.  Eighteen is young to lose a grandparent, considering my husband who is 32 has three of his four still left and the one passed away when he was 26.  But my grandma was there for all my "big stuff", save my wedding and the birth of my children.

My kids get confused when I talk about my mom.  PJ vaguely remembers her, but there's not much to remember.  All she could do in his memory was sit on the couch. So they see my MIL as grandma and can't understand when I talk about grandma in heaven.

It breaks my heart.

People complain about their parents, or their in-laws.  Sometimes their have shitty parents or in-laws that should be complained about.   I would trade anything for the worst day I had with my mom.

Being a mom is hard.  It's rewarding beyond words.  It's the best thing I have ever done, it's the only thing I want to do everyday for the rest of my life.  But it's hard. Sometimes I rock being a mom, and sometimes I suck.  Sometimes I am confident in my decisions, and sometimes I do nothing but doubt myself. 

But every time, I wish I could just talk to my mom.

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Tomorrow...we walk

Tomorrow, we walk to defeat ALS. 

In memory of my mom.

Who lost her battle with this horrible disease.

It's too late for her, but it's not late to stop someone else from ever having to hear the words

"You have ALS."

It's only three words.

Three words that have so much meaning.

Three words, that to a person unfamiliar with the disease would think, "this is bad.  really bad."

Three words, to a person familiar with the disease would not be able think.

Because they would know that soon.

They won't be able to turn the page of their book.

Soon they won't be able to wash their hair.

Hug their child.

Tie their shoes.

Feed themselves.

Walk.

Breathe.

 

If you want to donate, please click the link below.

 

http://webchicago.alsa.org/site/TR/Walks/Chicago?px=2675921&pg=personal&fr_id=8850

Mom, I have a girlfriend.

One day last week, after school, PJ said to me

"Mom, I have a girlfriend?"

"You do?  What's her name?"

"Grace."

"What's this whore Grace's deal?"

Yup, that's me.  Calling a 5 or 6 year old a whore.

Mother of the year.