It

Fear is more than just a dirty word.

It chills my hands, my feet, my chest. It sends shivers up my spine, ripples through my core. It freezes me.

It clogs my throat. It keeps me from speaking, from singing, from breathing. It keeps me from thinking, from doing, from being. It immobilizes me.

It radiates from my center, permeates everything around me. It destroys my confidence. It debilitates me.

Fear controls my life.

Somehow, I have to fight it. Somehow, I have to overcome it. Somehow, somehow, somehow…

With a name comes power. Now that I know the name of this unspeakable and overwhelming foe, I can defeat it.

I have the power.

Fear had better watch its back.

(c) 2017. All rights reserved.

Internal Monologue

Go on, then, smile.

Come on – give us a smile.

It’s not that hard. See? You just part your lips a bit. Show off those pearly whites.

What do you mean, you don’t feel like it? You used to smile all the time. You were the smiley girl.

What do you mean, everything’s changed?

Come on – give us a smile. It won’t hurt. You can do it – it’s not hard. You might even like it.

Go on, then, smile. For old times’ sake. Just smile.

(c) 2017. All rights reserved.

Days Like These

Thanks to the wonders of sharing (read: Sick Kid #1 shared with big brother (and also, apparently, with Dad)), I ended up spending today at home. Okay, I thought, I’ll get him all tucked into bed and have a nice quiet day. And then I remembered that it’s spring break and, unlike last week, I would not have the house to myself.

So much for that nice, quiet day.

I had planned to finish a short story today while Sick Kid #2 slept off his headache/fever combo. I had planned to get a little revision work done on another project. I had planned to be productive, but in the end, I didn’t do any of that.

Instead, I calmed down an upset little Cricket, who wanted to watch a movie instead of going to lie down in bed. I gave him some Tylenol to get his fever down, tucked him into bed, and read him a story before turning his bottom bunk into a nice, dark cave. Then I sat down and stared at my computer screen for a little while. Didn’t really do anything, just stared (and scrolled through Facebook). Thumper played on his Leapster, which he loves, and I love that he’s so into the educational games. Kid loves to learn. 🙂

I ended up running to the store while Miss Tadpole watched her brothers for a few minutes, because Cricket wanted some 7-Up. A quick stop at the library for a print job led to an unexpected yet exciting conversation with the librarian (watch this space for details). When the caramel apple dip in stock at the grocery store proved terribly disappointing, I decided to make my own and then prayed I had all the ingredients.

I did, and it was amazing. I have my seventh grade home ec. teacher to thank for the cookbook I got the recipe from, and a longtime bestie for the recipe itself. And, thanks to the wonders of Facebook, I was able to thank them both. 🙂

Miss Tadpole and I spent the afternoon eating apples with our homemade caramel dip and watching movies. It is my considered opinion that one can never see The Cutting Edge or Emma too many times (which is probably a good thing, since I have two versions of the latter). We talked, and laughed, and it was so, so wonderful.

What I thought was going to be a less-than-fun day at home (I hate when the kids are sick because I feel so powerless and all I want to do is make them feel better, but I can’t) turned out to be pretty fan-darn-tastic. Between sick kids and bored kids and moody kids, it could have been a not-so-nice day. But with Cricket eventually content to sleep away the day and with Thumper absolutely absorbed in his animal-catching game, it was actually pretty peaceful.

In some ways, I think the teen years are even harder than the newborn and toddler years because there’s just so much going on, and sometimes it’s hard to remember what it was like to be that age. After all, fourteen was a lifetime ago. And fourteen was hard.

But I think in the end, days like this will count for something. I think in the end, days like this are what the kids will remember when they’re all grown up and struggling with how to raise their own kids. And I hope that, in the end, they’ll want to recreate days like these. Not the whole staying-home-with-a-sick-little-brother part, but the part where we had a ton of fun.

Days like these are what make family time so much fun, and life worth living. Days like these are when memories are made. Days like these are rare and special.

Days like these were meant to be treasured.

(c) 2017. All rights reserved.

Kids say the darndest things

IMG_20160615_195025Seymour: “Okay, Cricket, time to get ready for bed.”

Cricket: *instant tears*

Seymour: “What’s the matter, buddy?”

Cricket: “Now I don’t get to do chores!”

My sweet little Cricket came home from CCD the other night with a collection box. Apparently they’re collecting money to buy rice for those less fortunate, and he is so excited to help. He told Seymour on the way home from church that he needed fifteen dollars, expecting Seymour to just hand it over, from the sounds of it. Seymour told him he could earn some money by doing chores, so he came home all excited to help Bubbles do the dishes.

And then the world ended when he didn’t get to stay up past bedtime to help.

This isn’t the first time Cricket’s been so gung-ho about helping others in need. When a local family lost literally everything but the clothes on their backs the day after Christmas, he was all set to donate half the things in his room (whether they were his to donate or not). And when I told him that they probably didn’t need his old copies of Ranger Rick as much as they needed clothes to wear and that his were either too small or too big to give them, he decided that his classroom  at school might want them.

The older I get, the less sure I am that I have this whole parenting thing down. But for my six-year-old to have a heart this big, I must be doing something right.

(c) 2017. All rights reserved.

Expecting Valentines

A friend of mine posted the following on Facebook:

“Every year there are a lot of “my husband/partner gave me X today – he’s/she’s so wonderful!” on Valentine’s day*. And yes, my hubby brought home a dozen roses (and a giant penguin earlier in the week) and while those things are great, he is not a wonderful husband because of them. He’s a wonderful husband because he listens to me, even when he doesn’t care about what I’m saying. He hugs me when I’m sad, even if he has to stop what he’s doing. He wastes his day to take me pokemoning, when he’d rather be playing his video games. He works hard ten plus hours a day, without complaining (more than normal), then comes straight home. He doesn’t blow our money on booze, or drugs, or gambling, he doesn’t get into trouble. He’s monogamous. He’s smart, funny, and most of all, he tries – not just once a year, but 360 days (hey, everyone takes a few days off, right?) And for that, I am very lucky.

*I’m not knocking those posts. I think it’s sweet that the recipients are excited and grateful.”

I read it this morning and couldn’t help thinking of my husband. He really doesn’t do Valentine’s Day, which makes the fact that he brought me home a bouquet of tulips yesterday all the more surprising. Gift-giving on Valentine’s is expected, and he doesn’t like being expected to give me a gift just because society says he should.

When Seymour first explained how he feels about Valentine’s Day, I have to admit…

Transcribing memories

20170112_222829I saw this week’s Discover Challenge post about transcribingmemory about a day after I had discovered the site for myself. Being a huge fan of diaries, and having kept diaries of my own since I was eight, I knew this was a challenge I could have a lot of fun with. I may not be nearly as devoted to my diaries as I was before I had kids, but I do still write in them every now and then, and this challenge provided me with the kick in the pants I needed to sit down and read through some of my old, old, OLD writing once again.

20170112_212507I learned a few things from reading my old diaries, like…

New

no-matter-how-dark-the-night-the-sun-always-rises-and-hope-with-itIt’s a new year! Hooray!

And also…what? It’s 2017? But…but I thought 1997 was just a few years ago…

1997-me would have had a lot of New Year’s Resolutions. 1997-me had a lot more free time. But still, new years are nothing if not perfect for making a change, and this year I’d like to make a change in my writing. That is, I’d like to do more of it.

This seems like the perfect place to start.

My poor blog has been rather neglected the last few months, and that needs to change. Once upon a time, I undertook a challenge to post a picture a day for a year. I had a lot of fun with it, even if there were a few times where I posted several days’ worth of pictures all at once. Life happens, you know?

This year, instead of posting a picture a day, I’m going to try to post something every day. Some days, a picture. Some days, a poem. Some days, maybe several days’ worth of things all at once. Because life happens, you know?

More writing isn’t the only change I’ll be making this year – I’m going back to school in the fall – but I hope it’s one that will yield positive results. 2016 was supposed to be a year full of awesome, and instead it was mostly a year full of suck. I’m tired of feeling defeated. It’s time to try feeling hope.

Are you with me?

(c) 2017. All rights reserved.

You’re only fourteen once

It’s Miss Tadpole’s birthday today, and she is fourteen. It’s hard to believe that – it seems like just yesterday when we met.

Seymour and I had decided to take the kids bowling. We thought introductions would be less pressure that way; they arrived first, and Bubbles and I arrived a few minutes later. They invited us to bowl with them and we accepted. We had a blast together, and afterward, she invited us to have supper with them.

Completely her idea.

I’ve been thinking more and more about those early days lately. They seem so long ago, and yet…not. I swear it was just yesterday that she walked up to me, tugged on my shirt, and said, “My trouble name is Tadpole Mary Kauffman.”*

And if I’d have smiled any bigger, I think my face would have broken.

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So have a happy birthday, Miss Tadpole – you’re only fourteen once. Before you – and we – know it, you’ll be fourteen no longer.

*name changed to protect the silly

(c) 2016. All rights reserved.

I’m too *fill in the blank* for this!

It’s hard to believe it’s been almost a year since I posted my stressed-out-Mom version of “Jingle Bells,” but it’s true. It’s that time of year again, and just like this time last year, I’m feeling the blues. The holiday stress began in earnest with Thanksgiving and trying to squeeze in trips to family, trips to friends, and trips to the store on Black Friday (not for the deals, but because we actually needed things) without going bonkers. This week I’ve got two Christmas concerts, church for the kids, a basketball game, a house to decorate, family pictures to take, and 20 dozen cookies to bake before Saturday.

It’s gonna be a crazy…