The time has come again for Thanksgiving. In just under two weeks, millions of Americans will face the dawn of a new morning and at some point during the day most likely take a mental tally of their blessings. I will be one of them. In a time of economic uncertainty, I am thankful for the simple things.
I am thankful for a roof over my head, nourishing food to feed my children, and warm winter clothing for them to wear. I’m thankful for my electricity, gas, and water. I am thankful we have a hot water heater that works, and a furnace as well, for winter life in Chicagoland would be brutal without either of those.
More than that, though, I am thankful for what I would have left if all of that were suddenly taken away from me- my family. My family is by far the greatest blessing, triumph, joy, and challenge of my life. And while most people count their blessings, I nickname mine.
Bonehead: My husband makes me laugh daily. Most people who know him know his dry sense of humor is backed by an intelligence that makes him quick on his feet and an easy target for saying funny things while simultaneously sticking his foot in his mouth by doing so. What they don’t know is that his heart and spirit possess a sense of chivalry and loyalty to his family that can’t be broken. They don’t see how hard he works to support his family, and the sacrifices he makes without asking anything in return. They don’t know that when he loves it is unconditional, that when he plays it is spontaneous and free, and that when he breaks down it echoes in his soul. No matter how much I might grumble about picking up after him, or doing his dishes and laundry, he is a blessing. I am thankful for every day I can look into his eyes and see them sparkle with laughter and mischief.
Smoochie: My oldest son gave my heart a home. He has always been a good boy, better than I deserved. He’s never colored on a wall, cut his own hair, or removed his own diaper for exploration purposes. What he has done is lightened my life with laughter, filled my heart with pride and smiled at me with his sweet smile. He has always had an uncanny ability to put others before himself, which made him odd at 3 years old, when he would readily pass up dessert to help someone in need of help. He has shown my heart how full and warm and happy it could truly be.
Critter: My baby boy is 9 months old, and in the space of 9 months has been the single largest challenge of my life. He has turned my life upside down and spit me out the other side, to be perpetually tired and weary. He has the biggest bluest eyes I have ever seen, and when I hold him close and look into them, he fills me. I have grown a second heart to hold my love for him, and although it is different than the love I have for Smoochie, it is no more or no less than that I hold for my firstborn. He has a temper. He will challenge authority. He will question everything and he will have his father’s ability to see things outside the box. I want to hold him close and protect him from the hard life lessons he will have to learn. I want him to stay my baby blue eyed blessing forever.
My nicknames are terms of endearment for my family, and I am thankful every single day for the joys and challenges they bring into my life. My family helps to make me who I am: A cook, nurse, entertainer, housekeeper, and too many more professions to name. Most of all, though, they make me a wife and a mother, which are the two most blessed titles I’ve experienced in my life.
*This post was created as an entry for November's Write Away Contest, which is graciously hosted by Scribbit each month.
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Friday, November 14, 2008
Monday, September 15, 2008
Birds of Prey
Our 6 year old has recently become quite attitude prone and argumentative. Especially with mom (and that has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that mom is way too nice in a push-overish sense of the word nice) and even at times has dared to become so in front of dad.
Mom occasionally will get worked up with all buttons pushed effectively and be in the middle of a rant before she realizes “Hey, I’m arguing with a 6 year old here. Who’s the boss?” It is at that point I usually repeat my first statement (If I can remember through the haze of frustration what it was), followed by, “I’m not arguing with you. End of discussion.” And then Smoochie be-bops away like nothing ever happened leaving mom trying not to flop and twitch like the Wicked Witch of the West.
Now Dad, on the other hand, generally chooses the squash it before it becomes an issue like using an entire can of raid on the line of red ants on our front sidewalk approach. And while Smooch seems to show no remorse for working his mother into the frothing at the mouth stage (which to give credit where credit is due, few do- I have a mother and sister who both will do it for the sheer entertainment value) he will think twice before ATTEMPTING to argue with his father. Because he knows dad will squash him. Like a bug.
Which is why I was surprised when Saturday night, smack in the middle of the popcorn making ritual, Bonehead came sauntering into the living room with the “I give up” look I often have myself and plopped in our wingback chair. I didn’t realize it at the time, but he was waiting. I hadn’t heard the exchange in the kitchen, but apparently it was over how the new can of Boy Scout popcorn needed to be opened. I’m thinking I should take a detour here to explain the importance of popcorn in my home.
Popcorn is the bomb. Do people even say that anymore? Oh well, I just did. We refuse to buy greasy smelly microwave popcorn. The only way it gets cooked in our home is in the hot air popper. There really is a ritual which is started off by the preparing the butter and the offering of complements to be sure it is in the correct mood of coatingness. While certain aspects of the ritual may vary, there will always be a loud “WOOOOAH! HEHEHE!” issued by Smoochie as the first few kernels fly with enough force to make a whacking sound on the other side of the giant bowl placed underneath. And there is always grated parmesan (the refrigerated kind not the canned kind because we are, after all, popcorn snobs) and oregano on the finished popcorn results. And now back to the regularly scheduled programming which left off at the frustrated plopping into the wingback chair…
Bonehead was waiting. Apparently there was a mild discussion about how to open the new package of Boy Scout popcorn, and Bonehead refuses to argue with a 6 year old. So instead of arguing and insisting his way was right, he came into the living room to wait for the sad, slumpy be-bop of Smooch into the living room to admit that yes, in fact, Dad was right, and ask for help.
It never happened. Approximately 45 seconds after Bonehead sat down, we heard the crinkle crinkle crinkle of the plastic safety seal being slid down the can followed by a smug little “Got it, Dad.” To which dad muttered something like “Unbelievable” and then went to continue with the popcorn ritual shaking his head as he went.
However, I do believe Dad lost it in the car on Sunday. We were on the way to feed a friend’s fish- which is a 45 minute drive there and another 45 minute drive back. We finally broke down and purchased the new Fratelli’s CD, which Smooch had in the back seat with him. When Smooch asked if he could open the CD for us, Bonehead responded with a “Sure kid, knock yourself out.”
And sure enough there was another fwip fwip crinkle crinkle, and Smooch handed it up front with a “Here you go.”
This would be the point where Bonehead lost a little bit of his sanity. He looked at me incredulously and stated, “What the heck did we do, breed little birds of prey? It would have taken me 30 minutes a pocket knife AND a razor to get that packaging off. (And with a swooping of his hands towards the CD for the visual) Does our kid have freeking talons or something?”
Regardless, the CD was open and ready for our enjoyment, Bonehead had finally lost a bit of his sanity, Smoochie was playing his DS like nothing had ever happened, and I was giggling at the sheer madness of our family existence. Poor Critter. He has yet to discover what he’s been born into.
Mom occasionally will get worked up with all buttons pushed effectively and be in the middle of a rant before she realizes “Hey, I’m arguing with a 6 year old here. Who’s the boss?” It is at that point I usually repeat my first statement (If I can remember through the haze of frustration what it was), followed by, “I’m not arguing with you. End of discussion.” And then Smoochie be-bops away like nothing ever happened leaving mom trying not to flop and twitch like the Wicked Witch of the West.
Now Dad, on the other hand, generally chooses the squash it before it becomes an issue like using an entire can of raid on the line of red ants on our front sidewalk approach. And while Smooch seems to show no remorse for working his mother into the frothing at the mouth stage (which to give credit where credit is due, few do- I have a mother and sister who both will do it for the sheer entertainment value) he will think twice before ATTEMPTING to argue with his father. Because he knows dad will squash him. Like a bug.
Which is why I was surprised when Saturday night, smack in the middle of the popcorn making ritual, Bonehead came sauntering into the living room with the “I give up” look I often have myself and plopped in our wingback chair. I didn’t realize it at the time, but he was waiting. I hadn’t heard the exchange in the kitchen, but apparently it was over how the new can of Boy Scout popcorn needed to be opened. I’m thinking I should take a detour here to explain the importance of popcorn in my home.
Popcorn is the bomb. Do people even say that anymore? Oh well, I just did. We refuse to buy greasy smelly microwave popcorn. The only way it gets cooked in our home is in the hot air popper. There really is a ritual which is started off by the preparing the butter and the offering of complements to be sure it is in the correct mood of coatingness. While certain aspects of the ritual may vary, there will always be a loud “WOOOOAH! HEHEHE!” issued by Smoochie as the first few kernels fly with enough force to make a whacking sound on the other side of the giant bowl placed underneath. And there is always grated parmesan (the refrigerated kind not the canned kind because we are, after all, popcorn snobs) and oregano on the finished popcorn results. And now back to the regularly scheduled programming which left off at the frustrated plopping into the wingback chair…
Bonehead was waiting. Apparently there was a mild discussion about how to open the new package of Boy Scout popcorn, and Bonehead refuses to argue with a 6 year old. So instead of arguing and insisting his way was right, he came into the living room to wait for the sad, slumpy be-bop of Smooch into the living room to admit that yes, in fact, Dad was right, and ask for help.
It never happened. Approximately 45 seconds after Bonehead sat down, we heard the crinkle crinkle crinkle of the plastic safety seal being slid down the can followed by a smug little “Got it, Dad.” To which dad muttered something like “Unbelievable” and then went to continue with the popcorn ritual shaking his head as he went.
However, I do believe Dad lost it in the car on Sunday. We were on the way to feed a friend’s fish- which is a 45 minute drive there and another 45 minute drive back. We finally broke down and purchased the new Fratelli’s CD, which Smooch had in the back seat with him. When Smooch asked if he could open the CD for us, Bonehead responded with a “Sure kid, knock yourself out.”
And sure enough there was another fwip fwip crinkle crinkle, and Smooch handed it up front with a “Here you go.”
This would be the point where Bonehead lost a little bit of his sanity. He looked at me incredulously and stated, “What the heck did we do, breed little birds of prey? It would have taken me 30 minutes a pocket knife AND a razor to get that packaging off. (And with a swooping of his hands towards the CD for the visual) Does our kid have freeking talons or something?”
Regardless, the CD was open and ready for our enjoyment, Bonehead had finally lost a bit of his sanity, Smoochie was playing his DS like nothing had ever happened, and I was giggling at the sheer madness of our family existence. Poor Critter. He has yet to discover what he’s been born into.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Unemployment
Today I officially joined the ranks of the gainfully unemployed. By choice. Bonehead and I have decided that the best thing for the family at this time is for me to be home to take care of the kiddos. Of course, our decision might have a little bit to do with the 3 cheese, mustard and oregano sandwich Bonehead had to make himself for dinner tonight because I’ve been too tired to grocery shop and Critter woke up before I could get Smoochie’s pb&j made let alone 2 of the darn things. Our decision might also have something to do with the fact that daycare is currently costing us more than our mortgage each month, or the fact that our laundry is currently clogging every pore of our home.
Now I get to make the switch from a full-time fast paced phone answerer, problem solver, shipment tracker, fire putter-outer, feather un-ruffler to a fuller-time fast paced diaper changer, peanut-butter face wiper, shoe tracker-downer, feather pillow picker upper. I think I may even start with the dishes that are currently taking refuge in my kitchen sink, and save the grocery shopping for tomorrow.
And maybe thank my husband for not complaining that he had to eat a pepper jack, American and parmesan cheese sandwich for dinner. And for not complaining about the labradoodles of Kepler hair growing in the corners of our living room. And for not complaining about the giant 24 roll package of toilet paper sitting on our kitchen floor that I haven’t felt motivated enough to drag into the bathroom all week. And for…..well, you get the picture.
Which leads me to wonder, is the man blind? I’ll be in big trouble if he ever takes off his rose colored glasses I guess.
Now I get to make the switch from a full-time fast paced phone answerer, problem solver, shipment tracker, fire putter-outer, feather un-ruffler to a fuller-time fast paced diaper changer, peanut-butter face wiper, shoe tracker-downer, feather pillow picker upper. I think I may even start with the dishes that are currently taking refuge in my kitchen sink, and save the grocery shopping for tomorrow.
And maybe thank my husband for not complaining that he had to eat a pepper jack, American and parmesan cheese sandwich for dinner. And for not complaining about the labradoodles of Kepler hair growing in the corners of our living room. And for not complaining about the giant 24 roll package of toilet paper sitting on our kitchen floor that I haven’t felt motivated enough to drag into the bathroom all week. And for…..well, you get the picture.
Which leads me to wonder, is the man blind? I’ll be in big trouble if he ever takes off his rose colored glasses I guess.
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