Then.............and now.

In a month, Trent and I will celebrate our 5 year anniversary of marriage. (I thought I'd better specify what the anniversary was, in case you were thinking dirty things.)

Second marriages are funny. We've both done this before. But neither of us did it with kids.

Trent and I rarely fight. Probably because we don't have time! One or the other of us is always peeling Oliver off the top of the couch, the curtains, the top bunk, the ceiling fan, from under the Christmas tree. Anywhere he shouldn't be. Gavin is pretty easy, he is usually too busy showing us how to use our iPhones.

Regardless, I've been thinking about how much our life has changed in the last 5 years. Here's what I have come up with.

Coming Home
Before: We use to run home to be with each other, jump in each others arms, kiss, end up having sex.
Now: "I have a couple errands to run, then will be there."
"OK, I am going to bed."

Waking up
Before: Wake up, make out, sex. (Ever notice how no one has morning breath when it is a new relationship?)
Now: "Oliver is up."
"Yep."
"You getting up?"
"Will you do it tomorrow?"


Food
Before: One would come home for lunch, the other would have a sandwich ready, complete with sides. Dinner would be a pot roast, potatoes, vegetable, glass of wine.
Now: "Whats for dinner?"
"Oatmeal. You need to bring your cholesterol down."

Dates (if we can even find a sitter)
Before: Dinner at a nice restaurant, maybe a movie, always a bar, go home, have sex.
Now: "What do you want to do?"
"I don't know, I'm tired."
"Me too. Lets just go home and go to sleep."
"Sounds good."

Sex
Before: Wake up, have sex. Lunch time, have sex. Bedtime, have sex. Middle of the night and randomly wake up, have sex.
Now: "Do you want to have sex tonight?"
"Didn't we just do it a week ago?"

*A week later*
"We really should have sex."
"OK, but hurry up, I want to go to sleep."

Yep, life sure has changed.

More than Material

Every family has traditions. One that we've had on my side of the family for years is going to my grandparents house in Oregon, Illinois for an annual fall festival called Autumn on Parade. Its a family reunion of sorts. My parents, brother, sister-in-law, cousins, aunts, uncles and even great ones (when they were still alive) all descended upon my grandparents home, which sat right on the parade route, bringing a dish to share while my Grandma made a pot of chicken and noodles or creamed chicken on biscuit. We'd start the day walking downtown to view all the craft and food booths then make our way back to the house to watch the parade, which sometimes exceeded 2 hours in length. This tradition has been alive for as long as I can remember and the thought of missing it causes me great anxiety. In all the years that this tradition has been alive I've only missed it a couple times, one being two years ago when I was too pregnant to travel.

My Grandma passed away 7 years ago. Since then we've kept this tradition alive by rotating who would make the main dish (which has varied the last few years) but still stuck to most of the other aspects of the tradition.

Autumn on Parade isn't just a festival to me. My Grandma was very big on get-togethers. There was always too much to eat, lots to talk about, and stories to share. In my Grandma's later years there were always something we could find to make fun of her about. (One year she was bound and determined to convince us that she put green beans in her chili recipe. We still talk about that one.)

I remember the last Autumn on Parade my Grandma was alive. Distinctly and by detail. She was pretty sick (suffering from diabetes and going blind.) She was dead set against getting dressed and no one could make her. Everyone always tiptoed around Grandma. Not me. I drug her sorry elderly ass into the bathroom and told her in no uncertain terms she was getting dressed and I was going to put the damn clothes on her. She was so shocked, she couldn't even say anything. I distinctly remember putting her in lavender slacks and a lavender and blue blouse. For some crazy reason she seemed to think she didn't need a bra and I told her that no one wanted to see her boobs fall out under her shirt and to put the damn thing on. To this day, I wonder what she thought of me talking to her like that. She probably had another "Her mother deserves her" moment that I was always hearing about.

Grandma was important to me. In so many ways. We never lived more than a few hours apart but I'd call her for every little thing I needed help with. How to get a stain out, why my cake fell apart, how to make ribbon jello, and if my noodles were too thick when I cut them out. (Toward the end of her life when she couldn't see she could only feel them and tell us if we did it correctly.)

So a few weeks ago was the annual festivities. So much has changed in 7 years. Grandpa is almost 90 now and is confined to the first floor of the house. Oliver was desperate for a nap so I took him upstairs and laid him in my grandparents bed, which he fell right asleep in. His first time in a big bed. I can't help but think my Grandma had something to do with that.

While Oliver slept I snuck over to my Grandma's sewing room and started rummaging around. Most of her sewing supplies have come home with me but there are a few things I have left to get. I found material she had purchased just months before she passed that we have no idea what she was planning on making with it. It was an airplane print so it had to be something to do with my brother or dad. And then I found it. A quilt. The last one she ever made. I sat in that room, on the end of the bed I use to sleep on during my nights there, and just hugged it. I buried my face in it and inhaled as deeply as I could. I could smell her. She was still there. She was still looking over me. She has to be. There are nights I dream about her and every facial feature is there, every wrinkle, every bony finger. I still use Oil of Olay to this day because the scent reminds me of her.

I was lucky enough that my Grandpa let me take the quilt home. I am sad to think about the day the scent disappears from it, as I know it will, being in a new home. But if it doesn't, I know she had something to do with it.

Grandma, I miss you. I never told you how much I loved you and I regret that often. You have impacted my life so much more than you will ever know, when you were here and even after you've been gone. Your wisdom, strength and cooking skills stick with me. (Though I will never get over the fact that you never taught me to make a decent pie crust or to iron properly.)

I dread the day Grandpa leaves that house. I know life goes on but losing that house, that sanctuary, will impact me greatly. Not just because the Autumn festivities will no longer take place there, but to know I can't go sit upstairs catching your scent and feeling your presence.

I am still sniffing the quilt. (Sounds kinky, huh?) It humbles me on bad days and reinforces me on good days. Its just a material object but means so much more to me.

As I sit here, unable to sleep for the second night in a row, I think I will go bury my face in that quilt and cry a little (well, cry some more) and hope she can give me some reassurance from up above. That quilt isn't pretty. But to me, its the most beautiful thing I've ever owned. And is so much more than needle and thread.

The Post You Never Saw Coming

I've written this post about a dozen times and revised it even more. And finally I am able to make it public.

There comes a time when you start looking at things in your life really closely. The things that truly matter.

I had three resolutions this year. To lose weight, drink less and save money.

In January I started looking at my weight. I changed it. I lost the 20 lbs I wanted to lose and have keep it off minus or plus 2 or 3 lbs, but I am ok with that small fluctuation. Goal one = complete.

Onto the saving more money thing (as that was way easier than the less drinking thing.) I started clipping coupons, and then, um, failed.

So this month I went back to looking at the money thing again. And saw a pattern I didn't like. More than one of my bi-weekly paychecks goes to daycare. Another $300 goes to gas. And now, another $65 will go to preschool tuition monthly. The difference here is sadly very very small.

So goal number 2, to save more money, now has been met.

As of September 6th, I will officially be a stay at home mom, raising my boys, loving them, and teaching them new things (while I am not trying to lock them in a closet and throw away the key.)

So armed with a stack of grocery store ads, and a full bottle of vodka (drinking less goal NOT going to be accomplished this year,) I say goodbye to corporate life and hello to a life I never, in a million years, thought I'd be so excited about.

It is with a heavy heart, lots of tears (I will miss my friends terribly!) that my focus for awhile is to concentrate on a different kind of full time job. Being a Mom.

Let us now bow our heads in prayer.....

P.S. Anyone know where AA meets?

The Definition of Mom

My life has never aligned with traditional expectations that society bestows upon us. I married young, got divorced, got remarried only a few months later, was pregnant immediately and added another in the mix exactly two years later. Traditionally women stayed at home to raise kids. I went happily back to work.

There exists a certain stigma with working moms. The Work Outside the Home Mom (hereafter referred to WOHM) versus Stay at Home Mom (SAHM) debate will forever rage on. And there are days I question WHY I am working. But I don’t question it because I feel the need to be at home with my kids. I question it because after I pay for fulltime daycare, gas to drive 80 plus miles a day, and health insurance, there is very little left to bring home. Does that make me a bad Mom? It’s a matter of opinion.

In the last week it has become inherently apparent who the “Mom” is in our house. There is a role reversal present that has brought doubt to my mind as to whether I am what society would consider a “good” Mom.

Two nights ago I was standing around the corner of the kitchen listening to my husband teach Gavin the words to a song that would make him open his mouth wide so he could brush his teeth. He has taught him what sound almost every letter of the alphabet makes. He does all the laundry, makes dinner, and washes dishes. Every single weekday morning he gets the kids up, gets them dressed, and drops them off at daycare. When he is home at night he puts Gavin to bed. (Whether he stays there is another topic.) He has the patience of a saint and the encouragement of a top motivational speaker.

I love my kids, don’t get me wrong. But it is I who am the career oriented one. I am the one who wants to work 60 hours a week at her job and bring home the big paycheck. Trent would love nothing more than to stay at home and raise, teach and develop our children. But until my paycheck doubles, it isn’t reality. And in my profession I don’t see it happening.
I don’t doubt I am a good Mom, just not the one society expects. I would give my life for my children. But if I had to stay home with them all day, every day, I would have to spend my evenings at AA.