Stuck!

Yesterday I ran away from home.  I had enough and I grabbed my car keys and drove away leaving dinner half cooked, the laundry in baskets - mostly clean but not folded and the house in the state of disaster. I left one child screaming "Mommy don't leave" in the driveway, another one ranting and raving in the kitchen about how I am on my cell phone way too much (slight roll reversal there), one working hard on his 10th bucket of rocks that he was picking up out of the yard for punishment and one oblivious to it all with his nose in a book.  Before you pick up the phone to call the police on me, my husband was home and is perfectly capable of caring for the children. 
    I have a friend on facebook who is just returning back to work after maternity leave after the birth of her first baby.  She has waited many years to become a mommy and it is killing her to leave her baby home.  As I sat in my happy place (beside a flowing stream about 5 min away from my house), in a way I was almost jealous of all moms who work outside of the home.  Adult conversations, a reason to actually get dressed in something other than sweats, put make up on, have an in box that empties by the end of the day and stays empty for at least a few hours. I did work at a "real" job once upon a time and I loved it.  Loved every second of it.  Then I had my first baby and my hubby and I decided that every sacrifice we had to make was worth it for me to stay home. Then three years later, baby number two came along and I continued to stay home. 
     It's not easy.  We struggle every month making the money that comes in somehow equal the money that goes out.  My in box of laundry and dishes are never empty - as soon as I think the laundry is done, someone spills on their clothes, pukes on their clothes or it is just time for bed and they all change out of their clothes. The second the dishes are done and the kitchen is spotless, someone is hungry or dying of thirst or remembers that they need to bring cookies for their youth activity that night. 
  Vacation days do not exist unless you count packing up, keeping children entertained on a road trip, unpacking, etc.  Sick days are usually spent doing what I do everyday just maybe a bit slower or with more interruptions for trips to the bathroom. 
   We now have four children.  I still stay at home if you count as staying at home the endless errands, trips to the school, dr appointments, preschool, field trips, and in our case therapy appts.The inbox of laundry and dishes never are emptied.  Someone is always hungry, thirsty, bored or just plain needing something urgently. 
  Last night, I threw a small stick into the stream.  It went a few feet and then got trapped between a couple of rocks.  No matter how fast the current hit it, it wiggled a bit but stayed stuck.  That is exactly how I felt at that moment.  Literally stuck.  By the end of my self imposed "cooling off" period, I had thrown a couple more sticks into the water.  None of them got stuck. They just seemed to go with the flow, bobbing and shifting WITH the current, avoiding the rocks as they quickly were carried out of sight. 
   Going with the flow is not always easy for me.  I'm pretty much a control freak in every sense of the word.  But I learned something from the sticks.  If you don't go with the flow, you get very very stuck and you are constantly having the waves crash over you.  If you shift with the flow, the waves become your friend, helping you get downstream where maybe the current is a little calmer. 
   I came home refreshed.  My children didn't die without me there.  They were finishing up dinner when I walked through the door.  And after I ate, we had a long talk.  And as of this morning, it appears that all of us remember what we talked about.  Our home is quite a bit more peaceful today.  I'm sure that will shift as well but for now, this stick is sure enjoying the slower current.

Oh the Lessons We Learn

I discovered something the hard way today.  One of my lovely children gets carsick.  We went on a beautiful mountain drive after lunch and church today.  Its been a while since we took a drive and we are in charge of a campout for our church in June.  We decided today was a perfect day to check out the campground. 
1st problem -The road that connects the valley area we live to the mountain valley area where the campground is has to be the most windy, steep, bumpy (but yet still paved) road in the whole world.  It makes me nervous because on the one side of the road is a steep grade going straight up the mountain while the other side of the road is a steep grade continuing down the mountain.  I usually just try to close my eyes and grip onto the hand holds as tight as I can as we round the endless corners and switchbacks.
2nd problem - I'm pretty sure my son was looking at the window and saying to himself: Tree. Tree. Tree. Tree. Tree. as we passed them going just a tad bit faster than the posted speed limit.
3rd problem - When we got to the campground, we were hoping to have a chance to walk around and stretch our legs for a while and get a feel of the area so I could know what activities were possible etc.  But oh no!  Our plans were foiled by thick chains and huge locks and big signs that said "No Pedestrian Traffic".  And being the fanatical law abiding citizen I am (NOT), and knowing that I am trying to set a good example for my children of obeying all posted signs, I opted not to climb over the gate in my skirt and go exploring. SOOOOO......
4th problem - We turned right around and went back the way we came.  Around a curve, up a hill, down a hill, around another curve. Switchback.  Switchback. Switchback. Curve. Curve.  Curve.  Tree. Tree. Tree.  And then it happened.
Just as we came out of the mountain pass and were driving through the neighborhoods less than seven minutes from our house (and bathroom facilities) the most dreaded sound that is feared by all moms started coming from the very back seat.  You know the sound I'm talking about, don't you?  I hope so, because I really don't want to go into any more detail.  And then the groaning starts...
"Mo-o-o-o-om, C threw up!"  "Mo-o-o-o-om, I don't want to sit back here with him!!"  "Mo-o-o-o-om, it stinks, oh it stinks.  I think I'm going to be sick too."  So we open all the windows.  Then the other whining starts.  "Mo-o-o-o-om, the wind is ruining my hair."  "Mo-o-o-o-om, I can't hear the radio with the windows open!"  "Mo-o-o-o-o-om, C is looking at me and breathing his throw up germs on me!"  "Mo-o-o-o-o-om, I can't hear you talk because the windows are open and the radio is too loud!" 

Finally, we get home and the real fun begins.  The cleanup. I honestly never realized the nooks and crannies my minivan had.  Ugh. Shudder. Try not to gag.  Fall in love again with Lysol/Clorox wipes and removable seats and my garden hose.  And yes, all of my neighbors, my child did strip out of his church clothes and down to his undies before I would let him in the house.  The clothes were hosed down with the booster seat. 

Lesson Learned from today:  Note to self:  C needs travel sick medicine if we are going on any sort of windy, bumpy, steep roads and someone will ALWAYS need the puke buckets within a week after you have taken them out of the van where they haven't been used for a year.  :) I LOVE BEING A MOM!  :)

Two bunches of flowers

Today, I received, as many moms do, a bunch of flowers.  It was not so carefully picked but very carefully delivered by somewhat chubby, dirty caked fingers. An assortment of colors (sunny yellow, deep purple and a pale lavender) with the appropriate attached greenery, was placed in a small vase that had been filled with water and put in the window sill.  I will get many bouquets like this through the year until my husband goes out with the weed killer and obliterates the sunny yellow dandelions, the deep purple violets and the goat head weeds that produce dainty, pale lavender flowers along with the most painful "pokies" ever created.  And I treasure these simple bouquets.  They come from children who can see the beauty in a weed.  As an adult, too often I see only the weed.

The other bouquet I received today was of my own choosing.  On a small card table, outside of our local grocery store, was a poster that read "Ethan's Yard Sale: Origami Flowers". I don't know Ethan well - haven't ever heard his story.  I see him often at the store where he works as a bagger.  I see him around town, riding his oversized tricycle with the basket hooked onto the front, usually full of a variety of things.  He always waves.  He always says hello.  And he always brightens my day.  You can tell that Ethan has some issues, disabilities of some kind.  One hand hangs pretty much lifeless at his side.  He walks with a pronounced limp and he has some trouble talking.  But his heart and spirit radiate through his eyes and his smile.  I've never seen him without his smile.  Today, he was selling origami flowers.  As I stopped after I had finished my shopping, I asked him about the flowers.  They were 3 for $5  "on special".  He was selling them to raise funds for the American Cancer Society.  He assured me that he had made every single one.  I picked three - interestingly enough, in the same exact colors as the bouquet that my children would give to me an hour later - paid him my five dollars and walked away with his cheery "thank you" ringing in my ears.  And I was amazed as I looked at the flowers.  They aren't perfect.  But they are a lot better than I could ever do.  And I have the use of both of my hands.  The amount of time and effort each flower must have taken him as he painstakingly folded each small fold and twisted each stem is awe inspiring to me.  I wondered about his story and then I started thinking about his mom.  What an amazing woman she must be!  She has raised her son to always focus on the beauties, the flowers of this world, when it would be so easy for him (and her) to focus on the weeds that surround them. 

The flowers that my two little ones gave me today will wither and die, probably before I even go to bed tonight.  Ethan's flowers will stay vibrant as long as I protect them from dust and curious little fingers.  I hope that I can raise my children as Ethan's mother raised him.  His flowers will remind me of that lesson, each time I look at them.