No, he CAN'T have that snack. Damn it.

 Greatly disturbed yet again by what adults give children for "fuel" and "treats".

Soccer Camp is a great example. 

Run around for a hour or so, sweating, learning new skills, working hard, your snack (if your mom does not give you a bag of snack items plus a long lecture daily on what goes into the shit the camp calls a snack) will be gummy apple rings, those little packets of fake cheese with cracker sticks to dip in the fake cheese product, skittles, red vines.

After three or more hours of intense play and learning, they give "awards".

They throw MORE red vines (really, I mean REALLY!?  Red dye 40 and the other mess of chemicals is PURRfect for growing hyper children that just worked out), MORE skittles, and other random bags of fake colored over sweetened shitty "goodness".

It makes me sad.  And angry.

I am tired of being the crazy parent who is always lurking around the snacks, giving the head shake to my kids.

On a better note, while occasionally he does cheat, Eddie is getting a better grasp of why I don't like him to eat like that.

As far my own mental health goes, having to peel him off the ceiling after a mild dose of artificially colored food product or high fructose corn syrup sweetened treat has me fully on guard at every camp, every awanas, every birthday party offering blue frosted cupcakes, every sports event where parents bring a snack.

I have gotten better at having our healthy treats always around to give him/them when everyone else is getting something fun.

Still, I know, he wants to be normal, like all the other kids.

I just don't want him to be as sick as them.

Brain? Come back, I need you.

I am sad.  I am sad that I am so tired this summer.  Aching bones, almost fall asleep while driving at 4pm, no ability to do anything but take care of children and work, tired.  Sad that I am boring, a lame, don't wanna do anything mama.  Hard to make anything happen, struggling to make any plans for anything, mama.

I knew something was twisted, not working right, when in the middle of a glorious sunny warm day, I wanted to die.  I wanted to no longer exist, I wanted to run far far away, I wanted to bury my head under the pillow and never move again.

Of course I don't, how can I.  I have three little faces looking at me, I have three bellies to fill, three people to hold and love and take care of.  I can't run, I can't die, I have to hold on, and muster through, even when I want to throw my hands up in the air and scream I AM DONE.  I have no MORE to give.  All my strength, all my creativity, all my ME, is GONE. 

There is always a little more to give, something always comes along that keeps me moving forward, or at least holding my ground.

Oh the guilt.  We mamas are so good at it.  I can create guilt out of anything.  And it is all for me, all things and reasons why I am not good enough.  How I am messing up.  All the things I should be doing better.

I have a piece of blank paper, on which I am supposed to write my goals, my absolute dream job and dream place.  I am too scared to write anything.  Ya, scared.  I move it around everyday, by my desk, on my bed, by the couch, on the front counter, today, when I get back from work, when I do the shopping, when everyone is in bed, when bathes are over, when I have a glass of wine, when I am less tired, when I have thought about it more....when, when, when?

Oh the power this paper seems to hold over me.  How am I so freaked out to simply think and write what I want the most?

I am tired, is an excuse that works only for a while, not forever.

Tired of being tired. 

Of not having the energy to even have a clear thought. 

Around and around, the whirlpool of my mind.

Pain is inevitable​. Suffering is optional.

 “I am responsible. Although I may not be able to prevent the worst from happening, I am responsible for my attitude toward the inevitable misfortunes that darken life. Bad things do happen; how I respond to them defines my character and the quality of my life. I can choose to sit in perpetual sadness, immobilized by the gravity of my loss, or I can choose to rise from the pain and treasure the most precious gift I have – life itself.”
Walter Anderson

Responsibility.  It is hard to not put blame on others, it is tough to actually except that we have played a part or are the shining star in what at some times feels like a giant shit storm.

Oh how we dodge it.  Run from it.  It feels good to shift the blame.  To have someone out of our control to lash out at.

What does that do to us?  What shifts in our whole well being, what changes for the worse, do we bring upon ourselves by not embracing the pain, the blame.  Does what is bright, and good, curl up, day by day, and fade away?  Is what is left after years of denial, of hate, of hunching in over the darkness, just a cold dark shell of a person?  What happens to us when you cuddle in the darkness, when you call it to you and make it your friend?  The darkness is never our friend, dear one.  Even when you are looking up, way up, from the pit you have dug, up into the sky so very far away, do you feel that the darkness is truly your friend?  Is it really easier to make believe that it is, and live in that pit, then to truly come face to face with your fear, your grief?  To own it?  To make a peace of sorts, a truce if you will, to wallow in your sorrow, your anger at the circumstances.  What then, once you have made that your own, and cried out your rage, and told the darkness to fuck off.  What dear one?  Can you cast off that cloak of shivery evil?  Can you part the fog, and move forward with your life? 

"Even if I have to stand alone, I will not be afraid to stand alone.  I'm going to fight for you. I'm going to fight for what's right. I'm going to  fight to hold people accountable."
Barbara Boxer

I will not except that blame, your dark cloak.  I will not take your guilt and make it my own.  I have moved out of the stagnant place that you reside, and my home is joy filled, and rings with laughter, and shines with love.

"We don’t see things the way they are. We see them the way WE are" - Talmud

My reality will not be one of guilt or fear.  I do not take that to be my existence.  My existence is not linked with those who only dwell to spread the darkness.  I acknowledge you, and what you have been through.  I move past and on, to where I see the light.

Pain is inevitable​. Suffering is optional.

“I am responsible. Although I may not be able to prevent the worst from happening, I am responsible for my attitude toward the inevitable misfortunes that darken life. Bad things do happen; how I respond to them defines my character and the quality of my life. I can choose to sit in perpetual sadness, immobilized by the gravity of my loss, or I can choose to rise from the pain and treasure the most precious gift I have – life itself.”
Walter Anderson

Responsibility. It is hard to not put blame on others, it is tough to actually except that we have played a part or are the shining star in what at some times feels like a giant shit storm.

Oh how we dodge it. Run from it. It feels good to shift the blame. To have someone out of our control to lash out at.

What does that do to us? What shifts in our whole well being, what changes for the worse, do we bring upon ourselves by not embracing the pain, the blame. Does what is bright, and good, curl up, day by day, and fade away? Is what is left after years of denial, of hate, of hunching in over the darkness, just a cold dark shell of a person? What happens to us when you cuddle in the darkness, when you call it to you and make it your friend? The darkness is never our friend, dear one. Even when you are looking up, way up, from the pit you have dug, up into the sky so very far away, do you feel that the darkness is truly your friend? Is it really easier to make believe that it is, and live in that pit, then to truly come face to face with your fear, your grief? To own it? To make a peace of sorts, a truce if you will, to wallow in your sorrow, your anger at the circumstances. What then, once you have made that your own, and cried out your rage, and told the darkness to fuck off. What dear one? Can you cast off that cloak of shivery evil? Can you part the fog, and move forward with your life?

"Even if I have to stand alone, I will not be afraid to stand alone. I'm going to fight for you. I'm going to fight for what's right. I'm going to fight to hold people accountable."
Barbara Boxer

I will not except that blame, your dark cloak. I will not take your guilt and make it my own. I have moved out of the stagnant place that you reside, and my home is joy filled, and rings with laughter, and shines with love.

"We don’t see things the way they are. We see them the way WE are" - Talmud

My reality will not be one of guilt or fear. I do not take that to be my existence. My existence is not linked with those who only dwell to spread the darkness. I acknowledge you, and what you have been through. I move past and on, to where I see the light.

Painful

 I hate pain. I hate my pain. I hate my children's pain more.

That said, I have this crazy swollen vein in (on?) my leg that is at last causing me MUCH pain. This shows me that I do in fact have to slow the f-word down. I can't in "wear" the baby and stand up nonstop for 12 hours a day, with out causing something bad to happen to my body. My body has created a way to force myself to stop my current pattern and come up with a new game plan.

Yay me.

So after some major self pity, I have taken a few doses of my vein tonic, some herbal anti-inflammatory, extra fish oil and did some yoga, I can tell you that at least the pain is a bit better. Less swollen too.

Now on to the fun part of reconstructing my days to make life a little less heavy on the ol' feet, erm...and legs.

Guess I better finish losing all the baby weight. For real, no joking around now Melissa. (Ya, this post is also performing as a written reminder to myself to keep getting my shit together.)

But while dealing with that, I realize that my Tam has a slight fever, flushed pink cheeks, glossy glazed eyes, it all makes mama's heart sad!

Poor doll, our constant on the go days, and tons of time around other kids plus in and out of the rain everyday has drained her little immune system.

Right into bed, after a hit of children's health tonic, she is fast asleep, boosting her body's ability to fight fight FIGHT.

Praying for a peace filled night.

Baffled

 So, what is up with dudes who can't be a part of their child's life?  When they are offered the option of being there, but not in a romantic relationship with the mom, they walk away.  Like "just" being there for the baby, and then child, is not good enough.

Wake up assholes.  You are missing out on so many milestones, so many interesting and crazy events that you can NEVER get back.

Also, you get to deal with the resentment and anger if you ever do decide to re-enter their lives at some future possibly less selfish date.

How do they justify it?  How do their parents not harass them into making contact?  How can the parents not make contact?

After many challenging days, after many different talks with different mamas, I am left baffled by the sheer amount of asshole "dads".

Sad

And I saw you, in a tangle of tubes, glistening with ointments and gels, looking away from all the people "doing things" to you.
Mommy?  Your face cried.  I want her!  That warm, soft, loving place I was just forced out of.

I was going to come out, I swear.  I was just building my strength, and preparing my way.

But then, it was decided for me. 

I was scared!  I still am.  I want my mommy!  What happened?  Was I bad?  Why can't you hold me, and tell me it is all ok?  Is my daddy there?  Where are all my voices, the sounds that comforted me?  I feel so alone, and I want my people.  Don't let them take me away!  Mommy!  Where am I going?