The Photographer

Sometimes, as a mother, I find myself in the predicament of being in the middle of taking pictures of my kids when all of a sudden they begin to do something problematic/potentially harmful/disgusting and I can't find it within myself to put the camera down and stop it.  And so I just keep taking pictures. 

Yeah, I'll be expecting my mother of the year award in the mail.

School

I have a little guy who has joined the ranks of the big boys and has officially started school.

Backpack, check.  Aloof attitude, double check.

From 9:30-11:30 each Thursday, my baby will be away from me for the first time ever. 

                         I'll give you one guess who was more apprehensive about the first day, him or me.

The plan

Sooo.....since I announced (to all 3 of you that read this junk) that I am experiencing a break-through, things have been weird.  Like I have this huge high expectation I have to meet.  Like I have proclaimed that I am going through a change and now my next post should involve all the answers to all the questions.  And the truth is, I'm not even sure what the stinkin' questions are, much less the answers.  This is all self-induced, of course, which is the story of my life.  Setting too high of expectations and either killing myself trying to achieve them or avoiding the task all together for fear of not meeting them them (see time filler cat post).  So, in hopes of moving toward the new me, I am just going to move forward.  Slowly.  Awkwardly.  The wrong way, and occasionally the right way...just so you know.

I have put a lot of thought into why I don't know who I am.  I mean, who doesn't know who they are?  It should be the easiest thing to know, right?  Not knowing the person you are dating, or your child's teacher or your teenage daughter - I get that.  There are all sorts of games, and wills and desires and social cues that get in the way of that knowledge.  But yourself?  You have constant access to yourself.  You are in your own head, all the time.  I have been in my own head for 36 years and am just realizing that my greatest wish is that I had a map or a table of contents or something to make order of all of it. 

But why? 

I grew up with a father who had a personality a lot like mine.  He was very black and white.  He was very practical and task oriented.  He also set high expectations quite frequently, both for himself and for others, and knew the best way to achieve those for all involved.  He was not someone I would label a dreamer and flexibility was not his strong suit.  Many of these qualities I see in myself, much to my own chagrin.  Shawn has to remind me several times a week that no plan is set in stone.  Life is fluid.  But it is so hard to explain that to a rigid person. 

One of the memories that sticks out vividly in my mind of inflexibility being modeled in my home is when I was maybe nine or ten years old.  We had a ski boat and my younger brother, stepmother, father and I had planned on going out to the lake for the day.  This involved all sorts of preparation....gathering towels, sunscreen, food, change of clothes, loading the boat, hooking the trailer to our suburban, etc.  This particular morning involved some missing swim suits and the realization that the suburban was low on gas.  As usual, it was very stressful for everyone.  My dad always sent a message through his actions that time was of the essence and that we were always operating 30 minutes behind what we needed to.  After all...if you are going to go to the trouble of getting everything ready to go to the lake, you must go as early as you can as to make the most efficient time of the day and suck every last drop of "down time" out of the Saturday.  So we were all hustling around under barking orders attempting to get ready.  My dad had me stand alongside the boat trailer and guide him as he backed the vehicle up to hitch on.  I was always scared of not doing it perfectly, and therefore wasting time.  We did it within two or three attempts, and I was feeling pretty good.  It was already late morning due to all of our hustle and bustle getting things ready, and so as my Dad was securing the hitch, he directed me to get in quickly so we could get going.  I followed directions, he jumped in after me and threw it into gear.  We moved forward only to suddenly jolt backwards and then come to a ferocious stop.  My dad flew out of the suburban and once his door opened we heard a horrible yelping noise.  We all jumped out and found that our beloved dog had been napping in front of the tires of the boat trailer and hadn't gotten up once we began to move.  His leg had been run over by the tire.  He continued yelping, but was able to get up and walk.  The injury was the least of the carnage that followed.  My stepmother became irrationally upset with the thought of the dog being hurt and instantly shot blame my father's way for being in a hurry, my little brother became age-appropriately emotional, my father became guilt-riddenly angry and began to yell at me for not seeing the dog as I was helping to back him up.  At this point, three out of the four members of the family were crying and the dog is now limping away to just find a peaceful place to lay down.  But what sticks like glue to my memory about this episode was not really all that detail.  Not the crazy circumstances...it was what followed.  The dog was apparently okay, he could walk but was still hurt.  We were all upset not only by the idea that the dog was hurt, but by the family dynamics that resulted.  And instead of addressing any of these, my dad insisted we continue to the lake.  Like, as fast as possible.  After all...were were now burning even more daylight.  The plan was to go to the lake for the day, and that, by god, is what were going to do.  It didn't matter that we wanted to stay with the dog and see if he was okay.  It didn't matter that feelings had been hurt, blame had been cast, buttons had been pushed and everyone was a little wonky.  The plan took precedence.  And we went.  Growing up...we always went.  Went with the plan.  Carried through, no matter if the plan was working or not. 

Follow through is a good thing.  It is necessary.  But sometimes it is necessary to not follow through.  I see that same inflexibility rear it's ugly head in my day to day life.  One morning I had planned to take the boys to the zoo to see an Imax film.  The movie started a specific time, and I had orchestrated my morning to go according to plan.  But as they always do...things got wonky.  Roanin could only find one shoe.  Rex wanted to line up all his choo-choos before we left.  The dog couldn't be hurried in because of a squirrel he had trapped in a tree.  The cat tipped over a full cup of coffee on the kitchen floor.  But I had planned on us making that show (please note that these shows run everyday, multiple times per day, and we have a season's pass).  BUT, in my mind...we would make that show.  After all...it was the first show of the day, which would allow for the most efficient use of the rest of our day (no specific plans...just need to be efficient just in case).  So I grumbled, and hustled and broke out in a sweat.  As I was fastening sweet little Roanin's car seat I made an off-handed remark that everyone had made this morning very hard for me.  I specifically told him that this outing had become quite an ordeal.  And he looked at me with a double dimple smile and the brightest and most excited eyes and said, "No mommy....this is an adventure!" 

I stopped dead in my tracks.  I had just been schooled by a 3 year old.  How dare I?  How dare I not slow down and go with the flow?  How dare I not bend with the events of the morning?  How dare I place blame on anyone besides my self for the way I was feeling about the lack of making the plan work...and especially my innocent little babies?!?!?!  How had I put following through with the plan above the needs, wants and just plain flow of my family?

And I think that is what I have been doing.  Carrying on.  Following through.  Without a clear knowledge of who I am.  Without an examination or an assessment if my surroundings are working or a disaster.  Without figuring out if I am working or a disaster. And I am done.  I am done with this pattern of behavior.  For the first time in my life, I am slowing down with one shoe, amongst millions of choo-choos, looking at spilled coffee, with a dog outside and asking myself if I need to change course.  Looking at the plans I have for my life, my future, and the future of my family and evaluating if they are working. 

This is the first step in getting to know myself.  And it is scary as hell.

A cat lesson

Did I ever tell you the story of Pia The Cat?  It's a good story, because she's kinda amazing. 

We have always had cats.  Always.  In fact, when Shawn and I began dating about 14 years ago he had a mother cat with a litter of kittens.  He had gotten the brood of approximately 6 cats from a friend.  He fell in love with a little tiger-striped bob-tail kitten that was a part of the litter.  The friend told Shawn he could have the little kitten if he took the mother and all four of his wild and ornery little brothers and sisters.  And Shawn loved that little kitten so much he said yes.  He brought them home and within 3 seconds of being out of the car, the momma cat took off.  So...Shawn bottle-fed and babied 5 little kittens until they were self-sufficient.  A few weeks later, I visited Shawn's house for the first time.  And guess what...I instantly fell in love with a little tiger-striped bobtail kitten.  And so I suggested to Shawn that because I had just graduated from college and moved into a house all by my lonesome...maybe he should give the kitten to me.  What other option does a boy in love have?  I'll just answer that one for ya...no other option.  The kitten became mine and then eventually Shawn's again when we married two years later.  Rodeo was hands-down the best cat we have ever had.  He had to be put to sleep about 4 years ago after suffering for a year with cancer.  We talk about him all the time. 

We have had almost a dozen cats since that time.  Some have hung around longer than others...but they have all had a special part in our lives.  We moved a sweet little yellow cat, Wyatt, from Idaho to Texas several years ago and were devastated when he was hit by a car two weeks later.  So, when we decided to move to Nebraska last year, we decided that moving our two current cats, Tuesday and Pia, was not really a good idea.  We were, after all, moving from a home out in the country to a house in more of a neighborhood.  And these two felines had always lived outside in our barn, so we were worried about them getting lost or hit by a car or not liking being categorized into "inside cats."  And to be honest, out of all the cats we have ever owned, we were the least close with these two for whatever reason. 

We have some great friends that lived about 11 miles from our home in Texas who agreed to take both of them.  We were happy they were going to be able to stay together (they are brother and sister) and they would be out in the country with a barn and kids to play with.  Perfect.  Done deal. 

One week before moving to Omaha, Shawn took the two cats over to our friend's house after a painful farewell.  The new family was happy and we felt good about our decision.  After several days, we heard that while Tuesday was adjusting very well, the family had not seen Pia in the last couple of days.  I was horrified and felt guilty for forcing her into a new scenario.  I had visions of her running away and being eaten by a coyote or a dog, or being hit by a car. 

The day before we left for Omaha, guess who wobbled up our driveway?  Yep.  Pia somehow maneuvered the 11 miles home from where we had delivered her.  Please note that this trek involved crossing a busy highway and many fields filled with wild and hungry animals.  I had always heard this was possible, and of course I watched The Incredible Journey when I was younger - but to say I was shocked would be an understatement.  The cat had found her way home.  To people who were willing to give her away.  To people who had only given her a barn to live in for the first 2 years of her life.  To people who admitted to liking her the least out of all the cats they had owned.  How did she even know which way to start?  How did she have such courage to go on her own?  What did she eat for the 6 days she was on the road?  Was she scared? 

So we did the only thing we could at that point.  We told her she was the smartest animal in the entire world and let her know that not only would she be moving with us, she would be moving into our home and would be treated like a complete Princess.  She would have her choice of any of our beds for sleeping, and would have food at her disposal at all times.  We even promised to clean up her poop out of a box in the house. 

And you know what?  It has been amazing.  She is a great cat.  Better than I ever knew before.  She was a champ on the trip here...spending two days in a cat-taxi shoved into a moving truck next to Professor and spending two nights in a hotel room with crying babies and cranky adult owners.  Talk about a rough lesson on litter boxes and indoor life. 

And now she is part of our world.  Roanin and Pia have formed a crazy bond.  She sleeps in his bed and he spends hours just talking to her and reading books to her.  I love seeing him be so kind to her.  Rexy loves Pia as well...but as you can imagine from the picture above, a chronically-naked two-year-old who could be labeled as an aggressive lover doesn't always make for the best cat owner.  But, we are still working on it. 

So...my point is....love your animals.  Love on them like they deserve to be loved.  Right now.  You never know when they won't be around.  Don't take advantage of them.  They don't take advantage of you.  Treat them with respect and don't underestimate how much you mean to them...even if they don't tell you.  And this lesson probably holds true for people too.  I'm just sayin'...

am I ready for this?

I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later...I just assumed it would be later.  Like, much later.  But Roanin has found himself a girlfriend.  Eloise (how cute is that?!?!?) is her name and she is the sweetest little thing ever. 

It all began with Roanin telling me there was a girl in his class he thought was pretty.  He talked about her consistently enough that at a function, I introduced myself to her mother and explained that Roanin might have a small crush on her daughter.  At the end of the function, as we were saying goodbye, Eloise walked straight up to Roanin and gave him a full-on hug.  I have never seen Roanin's face get as red as it was at that moment and he just kind of froze.  He had both dimples in full effect and just stood there, blushing and looking away.  And the rest is history.

Each day upon picking Roanin up from school, I get a report of what Eloise was wearing, or how pretty she looked.  He tells me if he got to sit by her, or if she laughed at a joke he told her.  One day he started our ride home conversation with, "Mom, do you know who I love the best?"  After I asked who, he said, "Eloise.  Oh, and then you."  I find little papers around the house of drawings of him and Eloise together with hearts around them.  I also found a recording on his LeapPad of a song he had made up about Eloise that might have involved the words love, kisses and beautiful.  It is simultaneously the cutest and scariest thing in the entire universe. 

So we had her over for a playdate, and they played so well together.  I was shocked at how gentlemanly Roanin was.  He let her have her way - every time.  He got snacks for her.  He let her have his seat at lunch.  He pushed her on the swing.  He just grinned the whole time. 

So as long as someone can promise me that every romance he ever has will be this simple, innocent and adorable...I guess I can handle it.