It's The Little Things - That Are Pretty Big

I tend to feel overwhelmed by the little things in life.  Lots of little things, over the course of the day. . .over the course of a week.  I find it difficult to let go, and enjoy a moment (or two), because I just feel a constant state of stress or anxiety - about little things.

Recently, we went to my Dad and Stepmom's.   My stepsister was visiting with her family, and we had not met her new son yet, so it was an exciting family get together.  Before we arrived, I reminded my boys several times to be careful with the "new" baby.  Reminding them, that since he is 7 months old, they had to be gentle with him.  I reminded them, that if they wanted to be wild or loud, they needed to go outside.  I begged them to limit bodily function noises to the car or bathroom.

All the little things I was worried about. . .and. . .
It ended up being a great visit.  The kids did great with their new cousin.  I got in some sweet baby time, and chat with my sister, whom I adore.  My boys played great with the baby, and also went outside a lot to romp through the grasses and swing on the tree swing and be loud outdoors.  It was perfect.

Until we left.

As I was walking in front of my parents' house, I noticed a massacre of several plants.  I do mean massacre.  Plant parts were everywhere - except in their proper plant growing form.  FYI - my Stepmom is a plant-enthusiast.  I don't know how else to describe it, but she is a gardener-extraordinaire.  She has beautiful gardens, plants, landscaping, etc.  These were not meaningless weeds that my son decapitated.

Of course, it was wrong of my son to destroy my Stepmom's plants - although he honestly thought they were weeds, and was very sorry.  I was so upset about the plant destruction, that I allowed it to ruin what, had really been, a 98% successful visit (which is not always the case, and really was something to celebrate).

My Dad had asked me, during our visit, "Why do you always complain about parenting?  What did you think it would be like?"

This really made me think.  I do complain a lot about parenting.  It stresses me out.  It is harder than I thought it would be.  And after this visit, I realized that a lot of my stress and anxiety revolves around the little things, the 2%.  The wrecked flower plants, rather than the 3 hours of successful behavior, conversation, and interaction.

No more.  I vowed to appreciate the other little moments, the ones that add up to the 98% of positive that is my day, that is work,  that are my children - that is life.

This past week was very stressful.  We experienced the death of a guinea pig (rest in peace Momma guinea pig), state required testing, a stomach bug that hit 3/4 of us very hard, and a wicked case of poison ivy (Stepmom's plants got their revenge on my ten-year-old).

But you know what I really remember from this past week?  Walking into my ten-year-olds classroom to check on him (poison ivy), and found him sitting on the floor next to a classmate engaged in what seemed to be a relevant and fun conversation so that I only warranted a glance and a quick smile (rather than the usual "Mommmmmy!!!" followed by a barnacle-like hug).  Don't get me wrong, I missed the love-fest greeting I usually get, but I was also impressed and pleased to see my social struggler interacting appropriately with peers.  That was a little thing, but a Big moment.

I remember my poison ivy suffering ten-year old completing his reading EOGs without complaining (which is a bonus on a good day), and doing well.  THEN getting hauled to the doctors for a poison ivy diagnosis and medication.

I remember feeling tremendous success at running 4 miles (post stomach bug), and not passing out.

I remember my 8 year old NOT even offering to help, but just helping me to carry in the massive amount of stuff I had one day after work.

I remember my two sons, sitting relaxed, and enjoying a frozen yogurt treat, having a normal conversation and my youngest son asking his big brother for a yellow gummy bear, since he didn't get a yellow one, and my ten year old just giving it to him.  No argument, No negotiation.  No blip in their conversation - just a seamless request to sharing moment.  Very mature.

I remember sitting at the table with my husband and my ten year old, and my husband and I broaching the fact that our son will soon be in 5th grade, and being more aware of his body and hygiene and maybe (gasp) even talking about s-e-x.  My ten year old quickly shot us down informing us that we did not need to talk about that at all, while from another room, my 8 year old (with selective hearing) announced, "You can talk with me about SEX!  I want to talk about it!"

Some things never change.

And the Mother of the Year award goes to. . .

Not me.            

Less than two weeks ago, my son had his 10th Birthday.  Double digits!  Very exciting for all involved.
This year, for presents, he asked for us to "surprise" him.  That's a tall order from a little guy whose world gets rocked if we switch up seats for dinner.


Reason #1 I will not get Mother of the Year:
Not wanting to have a nuclear meltdown on his birthday - I figured cold hard cash was the gift to give.  Use the money, and get what he wants.  You can't go wrong, right?  Wrong.  We did buy a couple presents, of things we knew he would like, but it seems as kids get older, their interests get more expensive.  So a couple of quality remote control items was not inexpensive.

Reason #2 I will not get Mother of the Year:
Our family tries to make a deal about birthdays.  We are not much into other traditional celebrations during the year, but birthdays are a BIG deal in our household.  We generally have birthday weekends, if not birthday weeks.  My son's actual birthday was on a Tuesday.  So, the weekend prior we did fun kid-activities that he loved.  We went out to dinner at the restaurant of his choice.  He had birthday cupcakes with brother and a friend.  On his actual birthday though - is when he gets to open the presents.  Not a moment before -
So, that morning, my husband and I made the (horrible) decision to allow him to open his presents at breakfast.  1 - We didn't think he'd make it to dinnertime, he was quite ready for the gift-giving, and 2 - I was hoping, with money-in-hand, we could head to the store of his choice right after school and he could pick out some stuff he'd been wanting.  Win-win, right?  Wrong.

My son had a brief meltdown that he only got to open 5 gifts - three of which were cards containing money.  To calm him down, I kept telling him, "But now you can get whatever you want!  It's money, so you can buy whatever you like."

Mmmmmphhhhhsts a amoney sosoyoua cadnandbuuysyswhatevryouoeulike.  (sorry, if you are having trouble understanding me, but I am eating those words).

Reason #3 I will not get Mother of the Year:
I am a wuss.
Off we go to school.  My son is upset about the lack of (surprise) gifts, and I am upset because this is supposed to be a special day and 2/3 of us are in a bad mood.

Part way through my morning at work, one of my son's teachers comes to inform that while he was initially upset in the class about his "horrible birthday", he was now calm.

Yay.

Why is he calm?  I didn't think to ask this - I should have.  It turns out the ever-so-helpful-younger-brother suggested that my 10 year old use this birthday cash windfall to get the Guinea Pig he has wanted all school year.  Thank you, 8 year old son.  Some day, when you have children, I shall get my revenge.

At this point, I honestly felt very beaten down by the whole morning.  Guinea pig was what he wanted?  He had been wanting one all year, we had researched it before (but decided, not yet) - maybe now was the time.  I wasn't prepared to rain on his birthday parade anymore.

Welcome to the family guinea pig.

Reason #1 why maybe, just maybe I could get runner-up for Mother of the Year?
It turns out that Guinea Pigs should be sold in pairs.  I've heard that before, but who really follows random advice?  So we got one piggy.  She was the most spastic and wiggly of the bunch.  My son was immediately in love.  I said, "Only one guinea pig."  And he used his money and bought the whole thing:  Guinea pig, cage, food, etc.

During the rest of the week, I found myself reading the How To Care for Your Guinea Pig book, and on every other page, the author makes a case for having two guinea pigs together.  Guilt.  It's a powerful thing.
While my boys were out of town that weekend, at Camp Grandma.  I sucked up my pride and went to the store and got a second guinea pig to keep #1 company.
"Which one do you want?" The sales lady asked.
"Your nicest one."  I replied.
She handed me a chunky, sweet black and white guinea pig, who snuggled right into my chest calmly.  Okay, I thought.  Let's go.

When my boys returned home Sunday they were ecstatic to find two guinea pigs.  The girls (the store declared they only sold female guinea pigs), got along fairly well.  The one I chose was quite calm.  It seemed all was right in the world - and, as an added bonus, we added estrogen to our home.

I've joked before about living in a "frat house". . .even our cat is male.  Well, take that testosterone.  Two female guinea pigs and me - we are gaining on you guys!

Reason #4 why I definitely won't EVER get Mother of the Year:

I must preface this next part by declaring, in my defense, that when we get home from work/school, I have a little routine.  Like ten year old son, I am a bit of a stickler for my routines (apple does not fall far from this tree).  I need to unpack bags, check for communications/homework, get out snacks, and start prepping for dinner, etc.

So, I am in the kitchen and my ten year old runs upstairs to see the guinea pigs.  He quietly comes down and tells me that I need to come see the guinea pigs, that he thinks there are babies in the cage, but he's not sure. In my frazzled, just-got-home-in-my-routine state of mind, I think, "There cannot possible be babies in that cage.  I don't know what he's seen, but not that."

"Mom, come up." He says again.
"I am busy right now," replies Woman Who Will NEVER Be Mother of the Year.
"I'll go!" volunteers my 8 year old.

"Sure," replies Woman Who Will NEVER Be Mother of the Year on this planet, or any other. "Go see what he's talking about, and let me know if I really need to come up."

I have sent my youngest son to the slaughter.

Guess what?  There was more estrogen in this house!
My youngest son comes down the stairs.  He doesn't say a word.  He looks like he has been traumatized.

I stop everything (as a true Mother of the Year would have done immediately).  Go upstairs, to discover that, Yes.  There are two - dead - guinea pig babies in the bottom of the cage.  Our two guinea pigs are huddled in the opposite corner.  I am sure they are scarred for life as well.

I stare into the cage - not wanting to, but not really believing what I am seeing, and not sure what to do.

This is not covered in the parenting handbooks.  Or the Guinea Pig Care Book I've been reading.

I slowly and quietly go downstairs.  The boys start asking questions.  I don't know how to answer.
I ask them to give me about five minutes, and then I will try to talk with them.

I call the pet store.  I think I calmly, but firmly made my feelings clear to the manager.  He was rightfully regretful, and completely willing to help in any way I wanted.  I didn't know what I wanted.  I wanted to go back in time and not deal with this - but as with all things in life and parenthood, that is not an option.

We made an appointment for the guinea pigs with the in-store Vet for that afternoon, to see our pigs - since I didn't know which one had given birth, and I was worried about their health and well being.  I also requested a bottle of wine (for me) and therapy (for my children).  We got the Vet appointment.

The boys were full of questions.  I explained that since we hadn't known a guinea pig was even pregnant, we didn't prepare properly for the birth of her babies (they are supposed to be separated from other guinea pigs).  In addition, because I didn't know if the babies had been born in the condition in which I found them (fairly gruesome), or if that had been inflicted upon them, I explained that sometimes, in nature things don't come together as they should, and these babies were not meant to be.

Long story short (too late).  ---- bonus points to anyone who knows what movie that's from.

The guinea pigs checked out as healthy.  The black and white pig that I had bought later in the week was the Momma.  We THINK they are both girls, but are to go in for a final opinion this coming week.

The boys and the guinea pigs have seemed to recovered nicely from that traumatic event.

I think I still need my bottle of wine - and the therapy.

The Finish Line

I own a lot of bags.  My favorite bag though is my Race Bag.

I earned this bag.  I worked hard for it.

There is a company, Mile 22 Bags - you can send in race bibs, shirts, ribbons, and they will make you a race bag.  I loved the idea, and saved my bibs for over a year until I had enough to send them for the tote bag I wanted.  I use this bag for workouts, carrying shoes, gels, wipes,and everything else a workout-a-holic could need.

I mention all this, because recently they asked for thoughts from their fans about The Finish Line.  So, I've been thinking about this all week, and it really has resonated with me for so many reasons.

For me, I believe, there is only one Finish Line - and I don't plan to reach it anytime soon.

However, my life is certainly filled with Goal Lines, and there are most definitely numerous mile markers along the way. . .but there is no traditional "finish".
As you know, I really enjoy running.  I don't plan to stop anytime soon.  Just because I complete a race does not mean that I am done.  In fact, I find that after a race, I am online that very evening looking for another race in which to register and start training!

There is always room for improvement.

There are often times when I lose ground.


There are other times, I make progress.

That is running.  That is life.

If you know me well, you know I suffer terribly from spring allergies.  I mean, really, really horrible reactions to pollen, trees, grass, ragweed - springtime in the south.  I can hardly run 4 miles without struggling to breathe, snot running, eyes and lips itching, and my body just wanting to give out.  The massive amount of medication I have to take in order to just function takes its toll on my as well.  This is my "take ten steps back" time in fitness.  I cannot run fast, in fact I feel like I can barely run, as I can't really be outside.

This is my cycling time.  Although I still struggle, it seems that it is not as bad when I am on a bicycle (perhaps the speed allows for a breeze, which makes breathing slightly easier?).  I still have a difficult time though, but it is a chance to get out and exercise without feeling like I am going to collapse within minutes.

But I won't give up.  This is part of the journey, the training, the beautiful challenge that is striving towards a goal - whatever that goal might be.  One day it might just be to get in 1 hour of physical fitness, whether it is a run that ends up being a walk because of allergies, or a bike ride that is a slower pace than I know I am capable of in more healthy circumstances.

I am still out there.  I am still reaching mile markers.

It is similar in parenthood too.  It is a total journey.  As my father often said, "There is no Finish Line in parenthood."  Now, as a parent, I know exactly what he means (yes, this is the equivalent of "You are right, Dad.").

There are so many steps backwards and forwards as a parent.  There are many milestones and goals to reach, but there is - thankfully - no Finish Line.  It is exhausting, it is challenging, it can be frustrating, discouraging, and yet hilarious, creative, and rewarding.

When I was younger I baby-sat. . .a lot.  I had thought parenthood would be a certain way based on those experiences, but it really is nothing like baby-sitting.
You want to know what I think makes me a better parent?  Running and cycling.
The challenge of pushing myself, finding my limits, and pushing beyond my comfort zone.  Pacing myself.  Learning when, although I don't like to do it, saying "enough is enough" and trying again the next day.  Learning to let go of my expectations, because very rarely do things go as planned, yet having expectations because having a goal gives me something to strive towards.  All these exercise skills can be applied to parenting.

My eldest son had his 10th birthday this past week.  Double digits!  We had planned for this day.  We both had an idea of how the day would be - and we were both let down.  We had to adjust.  We had to "shift".  We had to accept what was out of our control, and be grateful for what was in our reach.

While the day was a learning experience for both of us - he needed to learn that as you get older, birthdays are not like the ones you had when you were "little", and I learned that I need to clarify if I don't want to end up with a guinea pig as a family pet.

No, seriously.  Next time, instead of saying, "You got birthday money!  Now you can get whatever you want, and not be disappointed!" - I will say, "You got birthday money!  Now you can get whatever inanimate, non-living thing you want!"

This was yet another mile marker in his growing up and my parenting, that we reached, navigated, and moved beyond.  There will be another, sooner than later, I am sure.  But, there is no Finish Line.

I am fine with that, as long as I continue to learn and improve along the way.
Enjoy the journey.