The Early Bird

I've never been an early riser. In fact, pre-children days, I've been known to sleep in until 11am or later whenever I could. Some Sunday mornings, I'm afraid to admit, there were times it was a challenge for my husband and I get to our favorite Mexican restaurant before it closed at 2pm. Those were the days.

Now days, however, it may be hard for those who know me to believe I've become a morning person. In fact, I've embraced the whole Early Bird theory. This transformation has mostly occurred since having my children. Raising children is a selfless endless job…I start the day early on getting them ready for pre-school before leaving for work, and finish the day with dinner, tubby-time and stories. But commitments don't end there. Oh no - after they fall to sleep, its folding laundry, picking up the house, and catching up with my husband on the happenings of the day. I'm lucky if I roll into bed by 11pm.

Somehow and somewhere along this endless, thankless routine, I discovered morning time. It's the one slice of the day where no one can claim me. It's the one time of day all for me to do with as I choose. I crave this time to help keep my sense of self – yes, I am a mother, a wife, a colleague, etc. but I was "me" before I became any of those other things, and I don't want to lose that. It is the time of day to jog, to write, to read, to reflect, and to drink an uninterrupted cup of coffee while catching up on the news.

I was craving this morning in particular. You see, the weather in Dallas has been quite un-Texas like for the last few days. It's been dark and wet and downright unpleasant, aside from that wonderful flurry that started it all (see prior blog). This change put a temporary damper on my Early Bird desire. So I was particularly interested in getting back to routine.

My children, however, had other ideas. At about 4 am, my almost 5yo (Queen Kicks-a-lot or QK) crawled in bed with us. This was such an unusual event, that I didn't even bother picking her up and putting her back into bed assuming she had a bad dream. Then at about 4:30, my almost 3yo (Cuddly Cactus) crawled into bed with us - my husband refers to her as cuddly as a cactus, and God love her, he's right. Pushing away one moment, and clutching cheek-to-cheek Siamese-like the next.

Before I knew it, I was sandwiched between QK and Cuddly Cactus trying with supreme effort not to move so they would both go back to sleep. This feat, I imagine, would be similar to remaining completely still in the rain forest fraught with centipedes and mosquitoes to avoid alerting a passing panther. Then moments later I heard it…that slow wheezing sleepy child snore – not once, but twice. This was my queue to slowly pry away from their clutches and descend downstairs to enjoy "me" time once again. Did I feel guilty? Not for a blessed moment! This was, after all, my Early Bird time to use as I choose…jogging, reading, reflecting, and, even on occasion, cuddling a cactus.

Good Old Days

Oh those lazy long Sunday before my Dad found "the Lord" and my sister "converted" me were truly cherished. One has never experienced a proper lazy Sunday unless you've experienced growing up on a farm. Growing up on a farm was not an easy childhood for the most part. You were expected to complete your chores on a timely daily basis. You were expected to do your part, not to learn a lesson, but because your family depended on you as an integral working cog for mere survival.

But Sundays…ahhh slow Sundays were truly observed as a day of rest. Sure there were the typical chores that needed to be done on a daily basis, but in general, it was a day to take it easy. Lawn mowing was done, housework completed, laundry on the line, and gardening put up. A typical Sunday in those days pre-God were reveled in snoozing in, football games on the TV, and plenty of Scrabble and Gin Rummy. But of utmost importance… plenty of home baked bread. Not just any bread - I am talking freshly kneaded, rolled bread complete with a mother's loving elbow grease. The buttery fragrant bread that makes your mouth water so much that you have to swallow the built-up saliva before you can even take a bite. The kind of still hot bread that wafts steam as it cools and is too hot to touch, but we did anyways. Oh those days were cherished.

Save for sounding like a grandma – which in many families (including my own) my age probably already claims me, I long for those days. It seems like there was more time. It seems like the days were longer. A day could last "forever." A night an "eternity." Maybe I am missing a time saving trick. Maybe I should start baking bread. Maybe if I start baking bread, my life will not become more chaotic. Maybe if I start baking bread, my life will slow down and my children will not grow old as fast. Then maybe, just maybe, we'll enjoy the Good Old Days today.

 

 

 

Enjoy the ride, but don't forget to stop and see the sites.

I remember looking forward to going on those family car vacations. As summer approached and school ended, I knew one day my dad would announce out of the blue, "get packed - we're outa here." Where that would be, none of us would ever know until we got there. Always unplanned, always an adventure. It would drive my mother insane not to have an agenda. We would pack a cooler of food and drinks, my brother would sit on one side of the back seat, and me on the other both careful not to cross the dreaded seam in the middle that defined our "space." I fully blame my father for my wanderlust desire.

Although I completely enjoyed the ride, I remember many times driving by an attraction or two that we all wanted to visit: The Caves in Tennesee, The Corn Palace in South Dakota, etc. But my father in his desire to be a vagabond was intent on enjoying the open road. I often wonder how much we missed out in those little lost moments. I do know when we were forced to stop along the way to get gas or to have a bite to eat, we met some pretty interesting people saw some pretty interesting things (full size wood Indian at a North Dakota Diner, an antler chair and log cabin in Canada).

I am reminded of these "lost moments" today when my children get "lost" in their own moments. Many times I've experienced guilt about pushing on through the day as I hurried my children to school when they were engrossed in picking up rocks, or grabbed their hand rushing them out of a down pour as they were intent on catching a rain drop off the eave of our roof.

Today was different - we stopped at a "site" and we enjoyed every delicious moment of it. Today it snowed in Dallas. It was a soft feathery light wonderful snow with flakes large and gentle. I knew it was upon us before they woke up. As they wandered one by one into our bedroom with that slow gaited sleepy walk, I took their hand and brought them to the window. I watched the reflection of their eyes in the window pane growing from half open to saucers as they gazed out in wonder. Now at this point, still in my pajamas, I had no intention of getting bundled up and having a full on family snowfest at 7 a.m. But as the morning progressed, and I was about to push through the day and leave for work, I saw that my girls (2 1/2 and almost 5) had dressed themselves, and did a pretty good job of it too considering. They begged to play in the snow. Now mind you I grew up in the mid-west, Minnesota to be exact, and a day like today was no "site." But the look in their eyes and the determination that I saw in my 5yo helping her little sister dress made me reconsider.

This was a "site." This was their "site." And I was determined not to let them miss this wonderful adventure. So together we went hand-in-hand-in-hand and built the most magnificent snow princess, complete with a carrot nose and grape eyes (that kept popping out, which brought endless giggles). We then progressed to a snow fight before I had to leave for work. As I was about to leave them with DD - my almost 5yo said "one more time mommy?" And you know what? By God we did it, every wonderful fun-filled moment of it all over again!

Never Too Old To Teach An Old Dog...

Here I am 45 (I think - last time I checked), mother of two under the age of 5, and in a fairly new career after a 15yr gig in a totally different venue. I'm learning. I'm scared. And hopefully, I'm not alone. This blog is a way of saying thank you to my children - when they read it in later years. Sorry to my children - making up for not keeping a more precise baby book. It's also a space for mindless, senseless, and hopefully insightful rant.

So here I am starting my first ever blog - despite the new career path I've chosen in communicating with bloggers on a daily basis. After 45 years, it's time to dig down deep, figure it all out, and maybe learn a new trick or two.