Sunny day, sweepin the clouds away...

Oh how I long for a sunny day. Wait. Scratch that. I HAD sunny days. It's been in the 50's and for a couple of days...the 60's! For Massachusetts, that's spring baby!

So tell me why I wake up to find this...



Why, oh why, have the sun gods forsaken me?



Have they forgotten that it's MARCH? Maybe they are too busy being hand fed grapes. Maybe they are lounging on the beach in sunny California? Whatever their excuse is, I'm not having it. They are going to have to answer to the backside of my hand.



Good thing we're packing all of our worldly possessions and catchin' us a aeroplane to Californie in two weeks!



(provided the sun gods don't attempt retrobution for my backhand and send another snow storm...perhaps I shall rethink my actions...nah, they deserve it)

Come swiftly Spring and take me away from Winter's {{cold}} clutches...

My one little vice

OK...so I have WAY more than one, but who's counting?



I love PostSecret. (www.postsecret.com). For those of you who have no clue what I'm talking about, a brief history.



It was started by a guy named Frank (still is run by Frank) a few years back as a college project. He asked people to anonymously write down their secrets on a postcard for others to view. It has spun into a phenomenon. He is sent thousands of postcards weekly and each Sunday picks a loving handful to post on his website. You read total strangers (so you think!) secrets. Their Wants. Desires. Dreams. Fears. Deepest-darkest-secrets. It's voyeurism at it's best. I was let into this secret society about 2 years ago by a dear friend and my faithful few, I'm hooked.



Every week, I long for Sunday. I squeeze out 5mins. of me time and escape into someone else's secret. I, of course, am too much of a chickencrap to send in my own (one day...one day), but love the almost naughtiness of reading someones inner most thoughts. Some make me hurt. Some make me laugh. Some make me weep. But it's the simplicity of the idea that captures my soul.



I was out of town this weekend so I wasn't able to sit down and enjoy my ditties until this morning. One of this weeks card captured my attention and led me to my thought of the day.

I started thinking about what I would say to my 8yr. old self...hmm...

Right off the bat, I know I would tell my little self to enjoy every minute with my dad. To not give him such a hard time (but I gotta keep things interesting!). Because I'm really gonna miss him when he's gone.

But I think the one thing I would tell my itty-bitty-pre-pubescent version of me is to enjoy, I mean REALLY enjoy being a kid. Things change so much when you grow up. Don't get me wrong, I love being a grown up (and out of high school-YUCK!), but I do miss the simple days of being a kid. Playing kickball with my daddy every day after school until dark. SUMMER VACATION!!! Playing dress up with my cardboard box-bigger-than-me full of barbies. Tricking the icky boy (An-jello) next door to eat my freshly made chocolate pie (that was *shh*, secretly made of mud...bah-hahahahaha!!!). I miss that.

But in retrospect, I am tickled to think that there's really nothing I would tell myself not to do. I really don't have any regrets. (OK, maybe to not drink SO much that I throw up in the backseat of my friends mom's minivan because Lord knows I haven't (and won't ever) lived that down!). I know that everything I've done, survived, been thrown at, has made me who I am and I could never change that. (nor would I want to)

So my few but proud, I leave you with this to ponder...what would you tell your 8yr. old self?

One step closer to walkie walkie

My honey bunny is standing!!!

(Well, he's trying at least! )

My little one will be 8mos. old on Friday. We have a video monitor and for the last week, instead of napping, we watch (anxiously) as he's been trying to pull himself up. Mind you, there's no crawling yet...he's still working on that one, he's a roller.

But today, as I sleepily lay in bed at 6:30a watching him quietly babble and explore his crib, I saw it...he was standing and holding onto the rails! I feverishly rubbed my eyes, expecting to find myself hallucinating again (I've done that A LOT since he was born-sleep deprivatoin!) but I wasn't...it was REAL! I squeal with delight and Brandon runs into the room only to find him plopped on his bum (boo). But I saw it, I know I did! (or did I?)

After his short but sweet AM nap, I plopped him on the floor and we played. It's kind of more like torture though because we're trying to get him to crawl so I put all of his fav toys slightly out of reach. This is a delicate process because if he's not in the right mood, this will set him over the edge and playtime is OVER. Lucky for me, he's a happy, bubbly baby 99.9% of the time, so he considers this an adventure. He takes one crawl, lifts his other leg in the air and suspends it for about 20sec. (as if he's a marionette and his puppet master has taken a short break) and then lunges himself into a roll. He wiggles, rolls, scoots, backwards crawls, pulls himself towards the object of his desire. I'm blushing to say that that very object was me today (hooray!). He maneuvers his way into my lap and grabs onto my shirt and S*T*A*N*D*S U*P!!! I cry and squeal (because that's what I do) and he lets out the biggest giggle heard this side of the Mississippi (I have a friend who can spell that backwards drunk *wink*)! It totally made my day!

We're still waiting on that crawl (I have my video camera in tote whenever there's a possibility he may be mobile), but until then, this will very much do.

It's the little things folks. But I love them most of all.

Bringing it back old school

Wow...hiatous isn't the word for it.

In light of the upcoming lovefest that is Valentine's Day, I thought I would take a minute and break my word that isn't hiatous.

I am a hapless, hopeless romantic. Two of my most fav movies are When Harry Met Sally and The Princess Bride. I love long nights of just talking. I love sneaking smooches. I leave my hubby love notes in his lunch box. I draw dirty pictures on the shower door when it's steamy so my hubby can find them and laugh. I feel I need to paint this picture before I lower the blow...

I. HATE. Valentine's Day.

Ok, don't get me wrong, perhaps I've overstated myself. I don't hate the holiday itself, the general principal of an ordinary day set aside to proclaim your love is a wonderful concept. I do adamently hate the commercialism that has engulfed the sweet premice. When ESPN has headlines telling you "how to stay out of the doghouse this Valentine's Day" and then flashing pictures of diamond necklaces and bouquets of flowers that put the Rose Parade to shame, something's wrong.

I despise the principal that states that you have to spend, spend, spend to show how much you love someone. That's the exact thing that I will spend the rest of my life trying to teach my son not to do. Your significant other should know (and so should you) that you are loved every day, not by what you buy them, but by what you show them. A homemade card and cooking their favorite meal; a candlelit dinner after the baby's gone to bed; popping in their favorite movie that you can't stand to watch; doing that thing they like, wearing that thing they like, you know where; these things mean something and *shock* don't cost a thing.

To go a step further, everyday should be Valentine's Day. It's thinking of ways to be thoughtful and to put that someone you love ahead of yourself. You're in a relationship for a reason, (hopefully) not because you have to be, but because you want to be. Let them know that, everyday. Yes, a relationship is work, but it's also FUN. I love spending time with my husband, a luxury we haven't had too much of lately, so when he's home I try to set aside a few hours after the wee one has gone to bed where we can just spend alone time. No talking about work or house stuff, just reconnecting. That's our Valentine's Day, it's every day.

I say we take it back old school. I have such fond memories from grade school making Valentine's cards for all my friends (and the extra special, jumbo one with EXTRA glitter for my crush). I remember delievering the cards to the handmade brown lunch sacks on each of my lucky recipients desks. The chaos as everyone ran from desk to desk delivering their little works of art and high tailing it back to unload their own gems. I remember my mom always having a little box of candy waiting for me when I got home from school. I love that feeling, those memories. I always made sure to make a card for the goofy "outcast" kid who sat in the corner sad because she knew she wasn't going to get any cards because she ate her boogers (Tracy-HA!). I never wanted anyone to feel that way. That's what I want to give to Owen. I want him to know what it's like to make other people happy with just a simple thought.

I propose that this Valentine's Day, instead of fighting awful crowds just to eat cold food and spending a paycheck on a stay-out-of-the-doghouse gift, that we all do something nice for someone that day. Maybe someone we may not otherwise have. Take your mom out to get her hair done, watch that awful movie with your special somebody, make homemade cards with your little ones. That's what I'm going to do. I'm going to reclaim this holiday for the future of my child and for everyone. We're going to make brown lunch sack card holders...

On that note, I hope you all (all three of you) have a wonderful day with your spouses and soon-to-be spouses and let them know how much you love them...not just on the 14th, but everyday.

Christmas Groundhog Day

Where is the motivation? I mean, Christmas is a friggin week away and I haven't wrapped a single thing. I still have two brag books for grandma's to make and a frame and I can't find the time...

I sit down to work on, well, work and...nothing. I can't seem to get my little hinny in gear. I need some pick me up...I need something! I'm Mrs. Christmas too, so this is exceptionally out of character for me. I feel like I'm in one of those made-for-tv-Tori Spelling Christmas movies (shout out to T) where the Christmas spirit has left me and I need to be trapped in a friggin snowglobe where I relive Christmas Eve. (a la Groundhog Day) until I "find the TRUE meaning of Christmas again". If you've got some inspirational words for me, by all means, please cram them down my throat because I need to find the true meaning of Christmas before its too late.

Sincerely,

Lethargic in MA

My quest for me.

Hi, my name is Michelle and I am a blogging (*gulp*) virgin.

(Hi Michelle, welcome)

I am a new mom to Owen-this deep fried turkey on Thanksgiving, smores by the bonfire, sleeping in late, wrapping up in a warm blanket (fresh from the dryer, of course), walking barefoot in the grass, 13th b-day party at skate depot (these are just a few of my favoritest things)tiny, perfect little thing. You know if must be love when at 3am, after only being asleep for about an hour, he wakes up. Your heart sinks because you don't know if it'll take 5mins. or 3hrs. to get him back to sleep and you are so tired you whine to your husband like you are 16 again and your parents won't let you stay out after curfew. You stumble down the stairs, kicking the cat as you go becuase he's the devil, turn the doorknob, peek into the crib, stumble for the light because the hall light ain't cuttin it, and all you see is this face looking up you. This face. I look around to see if there is ooze protruding from my body because my heart has literally just melted. Then it happens. He smiles. Forget it, I'm done. He could reach up and rip my eyes out of their still sleepy sockets and I would still be smiling, because that's just what it does to you.

Who knew, right?

You hear stories from other moms of how their lives are forever changed and blah, blah, blah. You can't for the life of you figure out why they can't stop rambling on, and on, and on about their babies first incoherant babblings and how it "almost" sounded like Mama. You have no freaking clue until it happens to you. Then *smack* once you deliever that child, your heart literally walks outside of your body (I use the term "walks" lightly, at least not for the first 9-12mos anyways). It's like falling in love, but love at first sight, and more than love. It's like no feelings you've ever felt. You love your husband, sure, even passionately, yes, but nothing like this. Nothing phases you, poop, spit-up, snot...you name it and you'll be covered in one, or more of these toppings at some point in time. But you just don't care. You see that smile, that perfect little smile, and the whole world can crumble around you, just as long as he's smiling, it just doesn't matter.

That having been said...

I have found that in the process of transforming into a mom, you can easily lose yourself. Your-self, you know, that person that it took you 28yrs. to become. Well hold on to your panties, after 28yrs. of morphing into this self, it only takes about 22hrs. of labor (give or take a few) to lose it. Your days are not yours. Your body is not yours. Your nights are DEFINITELY not yours. But again, you don't care. Your mission, if you choose to accept it (which, by delivering, you already have) is to take care of that baby.

But somewhere around his 4mth b-day, things begin to change. I was just beginning to understand my child. To know his cries, when he's wet, that he doesn't want grandma to hold him (ta-hee-hee). But we weren't totally in tune yet. I was still apprehensive. The slightest thing would spiral me into this emotional roller coaster, whether it be he wasn't eating enough, I wasn't producing enough milk, he wasn't gaining enough weight, not sleeping, screaming in agony because he's teething, whatever. I start to lose control. I felt that there wasn't enough time in the day to take care of the peanut, clean (HA!), cook meals, work, build that ark I'd been meaning to get to, let alone have time for me. Then the crying started. I didn't share any of my pent up emotions with my husband, friends, family, anyone, for fear they would look at me like a lunatic because this is what I was supposed to do I'm a mom. My life is to take care of others. Eventually, well, we all know what happens when we hold things in. *Kaboom*. There I sit, desparately rocking my son to sleep at 6am (after having been up for the last 4hrs) sobbing uncontrollably. I can't do anything right, I'm a failure as a mother, as a wife and as a woman. Then my husband walks in the door. My night in shining security uniform. He scoops up my son, who, of course falls asleep instantly for him, and we proceed to talk. And talk. And talk. I tell him my doubts, my inablilities as a mother, as a wife, as a woman, and the funniest thing happens. He takes over. All of this time, I've felt that everything has fallen on my shoulders. I have happily accepted it, never once asking for help, but I've now found that my shoulders can't bear any more. At least for now. We make an arrangement that he'll watch my beautiful son when he gets home in the morning and I'll sleep in. Sleep in. Those foreign words roll off my tongue...I've missed my old friend sleep. Mind you sleeping in now consists of getting 5-6hrs. of broken sleep, but it beats 3-4hrs. But it does the trick. I can think, I can function, I can organize my day. I slowly awake from the robot-like coma of feedings, diapers, non-sleep I've been in for the last 4mths and start to feel something.

Now that I have a clear head, I start to realize somethings changing. Not the weather, or the aisles at the supermarket, or the space-time continuim, but me. What was making me the most despressed was not my sons inability to sleep, or the Mt. Everestt-esq sized mound of laundry, but the fact that I had lost something. Me. I love taking care of my son. I love taking care of my home. I even don't mind working (can't say that I love it though). But I miss me. I know things will never, ever be the same again, but I don't want them to be. I wouldn't trade anything in my life now for the way it was, but I needed to find me again. That creative, wacky, spitfire of a girl that has been dormant for 4mths. So my quest for me has begun.

Owen is now going to bed around 6:30/7p which leaves me 3-5hrs to do, well, anything I want. (Usually 5hrs. though, because of all this new found time, I can't seem to go to bed before midnight-argh). So I alternate. Sometimes I work (blah). Sometimes I clean. And SOMETIMES I do me things (hooray!)...scrapbook, rearrange our furniture, go shopping online, read a book, whatever! It's been the most liberating thing I think I've ever done. It's the simple things folks. If having a child has taught me anything, it's how to not take 15mins. for granted. In more ways than one. 15mins. of playing with him can make my entire day, and 15mins. for me can clear my soul.

On that note, I will leave you. I promise not all posts will be the novella that my first one is...but I can't promise that this will be my last one. I likey this blogging thing. Until next time...