Havoc

Oh, my... this week. Well, for most - its back to school...  and even those who don't utilize the overly popularized public school system, get to enjoy the traffic and the harriedness that ensues.  So - I personally was very much looking forward to the start of school and the routine and giving up my angst to earn "Entertainer of the Year".  Our summer was very fun filled and we got to see and do so many wonderful things.  But most days revolved around coordinating schedules with other friends and families and trying to make sure the kids were somewhat supervised.  And all that added to working full time and then some was wearing me even thinner.  (Figuratively that is.  For some reason I'm not my summer-salad-eating thin version right now.) Perhaps its because I'm turning 40.  That's another blog. So - while I spent the first six years of Motherhood happily perched on my homeschooling soapbox, it did feel weird to be "one of those moms" wishing her kids into the care of someone else for eight plus hours a day.  Perhaps its because they were home alone and I just wish it were me.  Anyway - plan B (or possibly close to Z by now) of our life is simply that I must WORK A LOT to make sure Thing 1 and Thing 2 can eat.  Its a good day when tummies are full.  If there's anything left for adventure or activities, then yay!!! Thankfully, with all the woes I've endured in my adulthood, I have two pretty well adjusted little people. They're old souls who've seen and heard too much.  But they're super resilient and probably have taught me as much or more as I have them.  They are good sleepers.  They can sleep through anything.  That affords this full time 365 day a year mom some much need silence.  I can be up for hours before they awake and enjoy the quiet and still of the morning.  My saving grace.  They are good friends.  They're hilarious and have the greatest friends.  Girls that I would claim as my own.  They're fearless.  Not something I'd say came from my genes.  They have taught me to face my fears.  Most recently, riding in a hanging, dangling chair to 10,000 feet elevation.  They're fun.  They're goofy.  They know when to hug me.  They know when to retreat to the other side of the house.  They know all three of us produce estrogen.  Thankfully not in sinque, yet.  And I am finding myself being ever so thankful now that they are good students.  They like school.  They make decent grades.  They make great grades when they push themselves.  They like people.  They're adaptable. They're okay in this institution while I am slave driving.  It is innately unnatural to me to put 25 plus children in a room and expect them to conform.  Conform to the clock.  Conform to the silence.  Conform to the expectations, the rythym of the others in the room.  To silence their own innate voices.  To be hungry when the clock says so.  To pee when the clock says so.  I wanted to spend each day exploring the world with them.  We could knock out what it takes 8 hours to do in public school in three and have the rest of the day to learn through simply living. Cooking, baking, painting, singing, dancing, sharing, giving - so many things! Now those things are crammed into oh-too-short evenings where homework and dinners and baths take the lead, and weekends that just aren't long enough to fit in all that and friends families and that elusive thing I dream of - SLEEP!  So "havoc" seems to be what I am reading from all of the blogs and tweets and posts and texts from the women in my life.  Note, there's a "blue moon" to top it off.  Add that and a uterus = bat shit crazy.  I explained all this to my super sweet boyfriend and told him he has a pass...  he is so incredibly understanding.  So within the chaos, I realized in my darkest, sleep deprived moments, I felt the trigger....  that feeling I used to have in my marriage.  The one that turns on the voice telling me I need Xanex.  STOP. NO. NEVER GOING THERE AGAIN. LITTLE PEOPLE NEED ME!!!!!!  I used to feel  I was treading water, that a certain someone had me by the ankles, and one good yank I'd go under.  Again, another blog.  Suffice to say, I decided this week that I was going to pull up out of hormone/moon hell and count my blessings, be present, and use those triggers to handle the havoc.  I'm strong.  I don't always want to be.  I want my turn to curl up like a baby and bawl and hide and contribute to the rising stock of Hagaan Daez.  But I know where that gets me.  What if I did something different?  Aha - "good" trigger.  The last time I did something different I drove away from my little shack of Heaven, eleven year marriage, with my girlies. Period. No job. No plan. No money.  And, um, I survived.  Some could argue I thrived. And knowing that, well, I can't just succumb to a week of havoc.  Nope.  I may have fears of heights, fears of speed, fears of all sorts of creepy crawlys, but the fear of my children not having their mother Whole and at least able to fake it till bed time that everything's okay - well, I can't succumb to the havoc.  Give me a two hour mushy chic flick and a box o kleenex. I'll cry cause the plot is heartwrenching and then I'll be crying four hours later for every wrong to every woman on earth, pat my padded Hagaan Daez ass and DEAL.  So, I write this, with thoughts of all the women in my life who are dealing with the crazy of other people, the schedules society binds us to, the work, the sleeplessness of it all, and remind us all - that doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result is the definition of insanity - which we are not.  So, when havoc knocks on your door.  Put on your big girl panties, your hottest high heels, and and answer. Open that door and do something different. One, tiny, little thing, and you'll be sprung into strong mode.  For your little people.  For the woman in you who isn't gonna tread water, who's not stuck.  Its kind of funny to think of all the books out there on how to raise up our kids, how to fix ourselves... how to simply deal with life - there just simply isn't a book on how to live YOUR LIFE.  MY LIFE.  And so I take a little of this, a little of that, a lot of faith and hope, and hopefully at the end of the day there are full tummies, little smiles, average grades, and hearts that are full and strong.  If I don't do it the way someone else does, or can inspire someone else to try one thing to make the havoc co exisit - well, its been a good day.  I put my girlies to sleep tonite with our traditional "taco tuck in" (covers tucked on both sides) and told them I'm proud of them.  Lexi tried out for volleyball two years in a row.  She celebrated her friend's success and cried her own tears and found a way to be okay that she will participate in "off season" and not on the team.  Anni is sleeping in her own bed.  Singing. I've always said a singing child is a happy child.  So, week one, WE WON.  We are whole and united and maybe a little shaken...  we are ready to continue on, trying new things, putting triggers in their place and being strong - even in our broken places.

You is Kind. You is Smart. You is Important.

I got lost in a book today.  "The Help"...  its been on my "to read" list for a while... I don't read like I used to. I miss it.  I was reminded of that today, when I devoured a few chapters on my lunch hour and was late getting back to work because the time slipped away.  And tonight, as I read till I finsished the whole book.  I felt like a little girl again.  Safe in my bed, escaped to someone else's world, someone else's problems.  I love books.  I love the stories, the people.  They may be fictional, but they are us - where else could their stories come from? This particular book just opened up my soul.  I felt so much peace the past three days.  I felt like a woman.  A woman charged with making something of myself so I have stories to tell my children.  My grandchildren.  The setting of the book, in 1962, was a different time.  You didn't google your questions.  You asked your grandmother. I loved my granny.  I could crawl up in her lap and ask her anything. And she could tell me anything.  Good secrets.  Stuff I was special enough to know.  I miss her.  I love spending time with older people, soaking their stories in.  See, the things we remember are people...relationships.  This book wasn't about pretty things.  It was about the heartache inside black women, working for white families.  Raising their children, but banished to use seperate toilets.  In the end...  no matter the color of skin, these women had relationships.  They loved the same children.  They kept the same secrets from their husbands.  You can't make this stuff up.  Its timeless. It was a beautiful story.  It opened me up, raw spots.  Things I let scab over, but maybe I need to peel the scab off and let it heal better this time.  I need to un-plug.  I need laughter in my belly.  I need to watch the world through the eyes of my children.  I will remember the tuck ins and the giggles.  I will remember my granny telling me the truth.  I won't remember who text me...  who painted their world a rainbow on Facebook.  If I'm going to have a story to tell, I have to live. I have to be. Exchange. React. I am passing this book to my thirteen year old daughter.  She says she doesn't like to read, but I am hopeful if there's one ounce of me in her... this book will light an interest. And she will know the feeling of a Saturday tucked in her bed, lost in the world inside that book... The title of this blog is from the book. These are the words a wise, loving maid repeated over and over to a little girl whose mama didn't love her. That little girl called her maid mama. Love knows no color, no bounds. It is timeless. Its right in front of us. Grab it. Savor it. Tell your children they are kind. They are smart. They are important. Show them. And when you're done, curl up inside another book. If I'm lucky, me and my girls will all be curled in our beds, reading timeless stories, inspiring us to write on our own. If not on paper, in our hearts, and the stories we tell those we love.