Ripples in the water

     My heart is hurting tonight for a family I barely know.  They live in a house across the street.  I've been to a couple parties with them, we've chatted, I've met their daughters.  I've seen their girls playing soccer in the front yard, I've laughed watching the dad catch his rambunctious dogs and bring them home. 
 

  Today the wife and mother from the house across the street was killed in a car accident. 

    
     Empathy is what makes us human.  We feel other's pain and identify.  I watched the little girls across the street playing in the front yard, because they had not been told about their mother.  I wanted to freeze time for them.
      I am beyond fortunate to have nearly all of my close family still alive.  I lost my grandfather to cancer when I was ten.  He wasn't just a grandfather, I'm pretty sure he taught Jesus to walk on water.  He laid on his back in the grass at night and showed me the stars, we fed the fish in our pond together every day, he snuck candy for me, he played, he laughed and he loved all of his grandchildren beyond the bounds of the human heart.  He was sick for a couple of years.  The details and sequence of surgeries and treatment is foggy to me.  What is not foggy is the morning my Dad woke me up to tell me my Pawpaw was gone. My world shattered.  The sound went out of the room and I thought the sun would never shine again. 
     That memory is the source of my empathy for those little girls.  It's also the reason I sat in my kitchen today with Tate in my lap and cried on the back of her shirt while she strung beads into a necklace.  I can feel the grief of the family I barely know rippling over the waters. 
     I sit here tonight listening to Sweetness softly snoring on the couch.  I know my children are fast asleep because I have checked on them several times already.  I will hold all of my little family tonight.  I will praise God for the people he put in my life and I will ask for peace for the family who lost their wife and mother today. 
        

The Sheriff in Town

 The bad guy, that's what I am lately. It stinks! I remember playing cops and robbers, OK it was Cagney and Lacey, when I was little and not once was I the bad guy. I am the TV police at my house and I am sick of it. Sweetness is an avid TV watcher. The man works long hours and deserves to come home and veg out. I don't disagree with him. I do disagree with what he watches in the hour between the end of supper and the children's bed time.


Recent outings with those in the working world proved the language difference between us moms and the "grown ups with jobs". I was embarrassed to be grouped in to the crowd of F-Bomb tossers. I think the fact that Brad hears that proliferation of verbal sludge all day keeps him from realizing when it is on the TV at home. He'll turn on a show and I can count five words in two minutes that I do not want my kids repeating. I say "Brad" in that tone that he hates and he shoots me dirty looks and tells me that there is nothing wrong with what's on TV. Then once I've pointed it out he realizes the language and changes the channel. All of this goes down and the the kids want to know why they can't finish the show they were watching. Brad then tells them "Because mommy said we can't". That is dirty. We are supposed to be on the same team. So what if it makes you give up a favorite movie? Who cares? Why are the mothers responsible for this?

I'm sure my husband's life changed when we had kids, but I do not think it up-ended his world in quite the same way it did mine. He missed a day of work, drove me home from the hospital and life went on. He had new babies to cuddle, but everything else remained the same. I never asked Brad to get up with either of our children at night, and he didn't, that was my job. I nursed both children, they never got a bottle, every feeding was me and my babies. I have not gone to the bathroom in the past six years with out an audience. Maybe that is why it's easier for me to adjust to giving up TV preferences. I've been practicing giving things up since the day I became pregnant. I gave up just about everything I ate for the first several months of carrying my children. I gave up sleep, my figure, and my sanity. After those what is a little old movie?

My sheriff duties don't stop with the TV, they also include food and it's consumption. I sat down to dinner every night with my family. Several nights a week we sat down with all our extended family, prayed and shared a meal and each others company. It was special and holds so many memories for me. Since I can not give my children Monday night meals with the grandparents, aunts, uncle and cousins, I am going to give them nightly, TV free dinners with our little family. Sitting down together and praying, sharing food and each others days is important. Stability is important, routine is important. I feel like I can only provide the routine, since our moving situation is anything but stable. But in this I am the bad guy again. They want to eat in the living room, and so does Brad. But we can't because "Mama won't let us".

Sometimes I want to stomp my feet and yell. I want to cuss and rip. Who doesn't? Would it be fair of me to tell my teary eyed son that we have to move because "Papa won't let us keep living here"? No it would be wrong to place blame on him for a situation he can't control. Should I answer the question "Why isn't Papa here tonight, is he working late?" by saying "Nope, he just didn't want to be home bad enough". I hate being vilified for upholding family law. I give in some times as a special treat. If we order pizza on a Sunday night we eat in the living room. If it's not a school night the kids can stay up past 8:30 and watch a movie. Sometimes we have cake for breakfast. But since I am the only sheriff in this wild uncharted territory I have to keep a close watch over my little would be law breakers.

My strict rule keeping is not just to appease my type A personality. It also helps when there is no other help in sight. There is no grandpa to pick the kids up when I have had enough. There is no break to be had when Brad informs me he will be working seven days a week until some time in April. I need my children to listen. I have a short temper and little patience, if they run all over me I am such a bad mom. If they know the routine, stick to the rules and go with the flow I feel like I can make it until April when Brad can help out again.

I will stick to my guns as it were. I will up hold the child appropriate TV programing rule, we will eat at the boring dining room table together and not stare at the idiot box. Maybe I should look for a pretty star to pin to my shirt? Maybe add some spurs to my boots? I'll just have to make sure any sheriff accessories I get go along with my crown. I may be the law round these parts, but I'll always be the queen of the laundry too.

Trash cans and fly aways

    I brought Tate to get a big girl hair cut today. While watching Tate get her hair cut I saw her grow before my very eyes.  I'll admit to tearing up a bit.  I could see each minute, hour, day, week, and month it took to grow that wild mane.  Gone is the tiny baby I held so close.  Gone is the smiling toddler learning to run.  Now I have an honest to goodness "Big Girl".  It's hard for me to watch knowing this is only the beginning of how fast life goes by.
    I catch myself watching both of my children to see if I can actually see the moment they grow.  Is Tate heavier tonight as I pack her down the hall?  Did Turner just get closer to being able to look  me eye to eye?  I notice maturity happening to Tate.  I notice how tall my son is getting, I think he was born an old soul.
    I'm not sure exactly what day it happened, but Turner now brings the garbage can down to the road and brings it back in for me.  This summer he couldn't do that.  Has the inch he sprouted changed him that much?   It probably happened about the same time he started running and throwing like a boy and not a preschooler.
    I now see why it broke my dad's heart when he found out I shaved my legs.  I remember the look on his face when I threw a pack of razors in the buggy at Wal-Mart.  I just couldn't understand why that, of all things, would upset him.  Now I get it.  Now I am just starting to see my babies not be babies any more, and it stings.  Lord please help me through the next fifteen years.  Be with me as they grow.  Help me to do right by both of them.  And thank You for my Big Girl and my Little Man.
  

The Bringer of Joy

   As a mom I have tons of routines and rituals.  Most of them are not note worthy.  Every day I cook dinner, wash clothes, pick up shoes, pick up toys etc.   Those are the routines I can do with out.  Some of the little rituals that I adore are drinking my morning cup of coffee, taking a hot bath before bed, reading right before I fall asleep.  Ahhhhh those are the soothing parts of my day.
    Ten thirty p.m. is quickly becoming one of my favorite times of the entire day.  Tate and I have a routine, I wake her up every night to pee.  She probably doesn't need me to wake her up right before I go to sleep anymore but I'm scared of what all I'll miss.  I laugh out loud every night.  She makes the sillies faces and says some crazy stuff in her semi-conscious state.  Some of my favorites are "I'm a princess and you are too", "Mama you're very pretty in you robe", and " I love going potty with you".  Last night was my favorite Tate night rambling : "You know I'm always gonna love you Mama".  The wet puddle on the floor is where my heart melted. 
     Tate is my challenging child.  She is boisterous, independent, head strong, and some times out right mean.  But the flip side to that is she can also be the sweetest child on the face of the earth.  I think the contrast of her two sides makes the sweet things she says that much more special.  She repeatedly pushes me to my breaking point, then while I teeter on the edge of loosing it she does something so funny or tender that all her mischief fades away and seems so unimportant.
    The name Tate means bringer of joy.  That is exactly what my daughter is, she brings joy along with her everywhere she goes.  I couldn't enjoy being pregnant with her.  I had just had a miscarriage and was scared if I felt happy about the new pregnancy that it would be taken away from me too.  The minute she was born all that changed.  Joy came with Tate.  She melted the bitter parts of my heart that pined for the baby I didn't get to have.  She changed Turner from my baby, to this protective mature little man of a big brother.  She tamed Sweetness.  That big man is putty in her tiny hands.  Tate brought joy to all of us.
     I pray that for my and Tate's future we are always close.  For now I'm her mom, enforcer, teacher, task master, and chef.  Later when she is an adult and mature enough, I hope to be her best friend.   Right now I'll try to stifle my laughter when she tells her brother that he is "Beating the hell out of Papa at the Wii'".  But even when Tate is being bad she is still living up to her name and bringing me joy.
  

Currier vs Career

   I have a Currier life, not a career life.  Both are pronounced the same, but have vastly different meanings.  I think I know what a career life is, one that centers around your chosen profession.  So what is a Currier life?  Well it's the profession that more or less happened to me, it was not a conscious choice.  I am a professional mover and packer.  I pack and move our four bedrooms about every two years. I can have everything boxed, moved, unpacked and feeling like a home in a week or less.  That's the easy stuff, the possessions.  I've also become a professional friend finder.  I have such a short time to find friends.  I didn't realize how hard that can be.  Sanity is founds in your friends.  The way Brad works, the hours he puts in doesn't leave much time for family.  He makes the best of the time he is off, but those days can be few and far between.  My children and I need friends, it's just a fact of life.
     An issue that comes up with every move is finding an emergency contact.  It causes me anxiety every move, every state, every city.  What if the unthinkable happens to Brad and I?  Who will be called to watch my kids until my parents can get here?  An emergency contact usually takes a couple months to find.
    As a professional friend finder I have a few theories that have held true so far.  Other transplants are easier to make friends with than those who have lived in the area all of their lives.   Any one who has had at least one major move is more open to outsiders and new people.  God will decide and provide at least one life long good friend in each new place.   I've made some of the best friends a girl could have in each state, and I still talk to all of them almost daily.  Those friends just happened to have moved to the area at almost the same time we did.  Mom's groups are a God send.  Being the new girl and being out going is exhausting.  There is nothing as humbling as trying to meet people and make connections.
     My "Currier"  I guess can be summed up as trying to make ever changing living conditions into a stable, comforting home for my kids and husband.  Packing, finding movers, finding homes, scouting out new school districts, exploring, meeting new people, finding new doctors, dentists, and pediatricians, acclimating, praying, pleading, playing and praising-these are all just part of the job and what makes up my Currier Life.