Truth Be Told..

So i believe that once in a while it's healthy to purge the 'ol conscience a bit and admit to recent sins committed, no matter how big or small (let's face it though, the bigger the sin, the better the story).

Below are some of my more recent infractions. However, I am sorry to say that my more interesting stories are far behind me. And given the fact that i am trying to at least maintain a PG-13 blog, I will not be posting about ANY of the sins i committed during my, ahem, less conservative days.

1. I have recently tacked on major mileage on my car by visiting the McDonald's drive thru more times than I care to admit. I faintly remember promising myself, when my first born arrived, that I would never subject my children to the buckets of lard that are used in making those awesome fries. Total Lie.

2. I have allowed two (or more) days pass inbetween bathtime. Now, in my defense, our household has been under the weather and it is no small task to bathe two slippery, sniffling boys while my throat feels like there is grade 6 sandpaper in it (is that even how they categorize sandpaper? did I just make that up? Grade 6?? anyway, the really rough kind).

3. In the last week I have consistenly and unrelentlessly bribed my boys with the following:

a. popsicles
b. european chocolate
c. chocolate pudding
d. whipped cream
e. ice cream on a "giant" cone
f. fruit gushers (do not let the word "fruit" fool you)
g. marshmallow cereal
h. you get the drift.

4. Also bribed my kindergarten class with these same items.

5. Physically unable to eat just ONE 100 calorie snack bag of ANYTHING.

6. Use food to tackle the following emotions:
fear
anxiety
humiliation
joy
pride
sadness

So obviously i have somewhat of an unhealthy relationship with food. hmmmm. now I am feeling overwhelmed which makes me anxious which of course means i better go and get several bags of 100 calorie cookies.

got anything YOU need to confess?

Look-Alike

Seriously....

Elton John............no?

soccer mom in mourning

It was last Tuesday that I finally made the trek to our local elementary school to watch superman play soccer with eight other under-fives. Seriously, the socks and the shin guards make the uniform. It could not possibly get any cuter than that.

I had monchichi with me and we alternated between him running away and me chasing after him and playing with the water cooler, pouring water in and out of two cups.

Somewhere in the middle of implementing autism-therapy-strategies provided to me by our awesome therapist (who makes it appear effortless), and watching superman play soccer with his peers as his (super hot) daddy helped coach practice, I lost it. I wanted out of there and for the next thirty minutes I felt like I was going to climb out of my skin.

I watched the other children play and laugh and kick the ball as I struggled with monchichi and wondered what the other parents were thinking as I tried to connect with my son who was so far out of reach.

I sobbed for no less than two hours that night. I realized quickly that I was grieving. It was scary and unexpected, this flood of emotion. I was consumed with anger and resentment, jealousy and pain. I wanted monchichi in long red soccer socks and I wanted him to wear shin guards and I wanted him to know how to kick a ball. I cried for the dreams that won't come true, the unpredictable and fast approaching future, and the little boy who would rather play with two cups and water than chase a ball with some friends.

This pain has shaken me to the core and I have not been the same since. I am respecting my right to mourn the loss of what could have been. My best friend has announced that I have every right to visit this dark and painful place, but that I must not stay too long. And I agree; it is far less enjoyable to delve into my anger and sorrow than it is to celebrate milestones and small miracles. But it is also just as necessary.

So I continue to pray for strength and inspiration, but I never have to look far for either. I am greeted each morning with the two reasons that make me who I am.

I'm really a mom....

Sometimes it is still so hard to grasp the fact that I am a mom. I don't know why. It has been well over six years since I first endured the horrific pain of labor followed immediately by a euphoric love for a newborn that stole my heart right from under me.

I make breakfasts, and lunches and dinners. I wash dishes and laundry and feet that are still small but no longer tiny. I ferry the boys to school and playdates and after school activites. I make crafts at the kitchen table and step on legos with my bare feet (OUCH!) and still, I wake up some mornings in disbelief that I am a mommy to these two wonders, these two little people.

Smothered in their kisses and warm hugs I sometimes feel I can't contain the love and joy that I feel when I am surrounded by their presence.

And God managed to perfectly plan on mom's getting exhausted and grumpy and worn out because nothing heals me faster then a sweet kiss from the same mouth that minutes before whined "Mooooooooooooooooooooooooooooom" for the hundredth time that day.

I AM a mom. And a damn good one at that. Because every day I suit up and do my best. and now, at thirty, I know I have and will continue to make mistakes along the way. But the one thing I have always done right is love my boys, love them to a degree that only another mother can understand. Love them so profoundly and passionately and unconditionally that it trancends all other emotion and energy. Love them with craziness that only makes sense to me.

Today, when my husband presented me with a bouquet of flowers bigger than my front door and told me how lucky he and the boys were to have me in their lives, I realized a truth that i will never take for granted:

I am the lucky one.

Happy Mother's Day to you Mamusiu and Babciu and all of you amazing ladies that are so dear to me.

God Bless.

I have an honest kid.....

It is customary, in our home, to end the day with a sweet little prayer that my parents taught my preschooler to say. This prayer is said in Polish, and my sister and I grew up reciting it as well. Dobranoc, Dobranoc, aniolki na noc........good night angels. Hearing our little guy say it each night connects us as a family to each other and to God. It is a sweet and perfect way to end a full day.

Usually.

Last night Ian decided to ad lib a little and after finishing his prayer he added a very serious and important request:

"and God, please help Lulu (our 10 week old kitten) to not pee pee or poo poo in our sandbox anymore." I silently agreed, since I found her doing her business not in her litter box but in the kiddos sand box, which contained really nice and somewhat expensive blue and green crayola sand.

That kind of honesty can only be found in a four year old. And Ian seems to have an unending supply of it.

When I stayed home sick last Thursday, Ian wanted to stay with me. I told him that if I allowed him to skip school and stay home, he would have to "be good and let mommy rest."

After thinking about this for a few seconds, he looked up from his bowl of cereal and replied, matter of factly, "then I better go to school mommy, because I don't know how to let you rest."

And that is the best kind of honesty. The kid kind.

Honesty.....Kindergarten Style

I was lucky enough to endure two bouts of pink eye in the last week. In both eyes. Needless to say, I was grumpy, and being grumpy is not part of the job description for a kindergarten teacher. I tried in vain to be extra cheerful during circle time. I stretched my mouth into a painful grin each time a student needed extra help or had a "very important" question that needed "immediate" attention.

But truth be told, I was over it.

Of course, in my attempt to recuperate my eyeballs from the awful experience that is pink eye, I tossed out all of my eye makeup and went to school au natural for the duration of my recovery.

"Teacher, why did you take your eyelashes off?"
"What happened to your face teacher?"
"Um, Mrs. A, could you please put your sunglasses back on?"

Needless to say, kindergartners are not well versed in tact, and neither are certain adults for that matter, as one very observant mom approached me with "my goodness, your eyes are rather small today."

I am all for honesty people, but sometimes not saying anything at all is just as good, if not physically safer, than telling the truth.

And this week, instead of our insect unit, my class will be learning all about Kindness, Compliments, and most importanly, thinking before speaking.

I will be inviting some adults to participate as well.

Out of sugar? Don't come knockin on my door.....

After obsessively logging on and reading a dear friend's blog (classy chaos) for the last six months, I have finally decided to try this blogging business for myself. What finally inspired me to take the plunge and divulge the details of my not-so-boring life? A brisk walk through my upper-middle- class neighborhood finally did me in. I just had to share my anger and bitterness and fury with someone and realized that my four and a half year old may not be the best audience for my ranting and raving. Haven't I scarred him enough as it is?

I live among jaguars and bmw's and recreational golf carts, though the nearest golf course is five miles away. I live on a piece of Southern California heaven and it wasn't until this afternoon that I realized that despite the gorgeous views and breathtaking scenery, i am surrounded by
cheap, self-centered, whiny people who can't see past their own noses; people who wouldn't know the meaning of "community spirit" if it came in and sat next to them on their living room sofas.

Maybe a little background will prove helpful.

I work for a private school two miles from home. My six year old son, "monchichi" was diagnosed with autism at the tender age of two. After soliciting donations at my school last November for an Autism walk our whole family was participating in, one of the teachers became inspired and promised to organize our very own Autism Run. This next friday, May 9th, our wonderful school will be participating in this event, running, walking, crawling, and hopping across our field to raise funds for research and awareness. YAY!! I decided to take my four and a half year old, "buzz darth superbatman" around our neighborhood this afternoon to gather donations for this wonderful (i know, I am just a tad biased) event.

*(insert sniff and sigh)* Twenty minutes later, we came back with, drum roll please.........
FIVE DOLLARS. Now, I am not in any way ungrateful for this five dollars. In fact, without it i would feel like a COMPLETE failure in my attempt to garner support for our cause. But seriously folks, when a woman, whose husband is an optometrist, whose house has three stories and an indoor/outdoor swimming pool, whose driveway boasts two SUV's and a gigantic iron CLOCK and whose house is named "The Villa" responds to our request for a donation with "it is not a good time for us financially," I am forced to come home and creat a BLOG in order to vent what awful emotions regarding this blatant lack of humanity have ignited in me.

So this is my first blog. It's not as welcoming and rainbows and chocolate sprinkles as I imagined my first post to be, but it was inspired by my life and that is the whole point of doing this thing...... so, if you want to laugh, cry or simply kill a few minutes inbetween diaper changes, then come back and visit. I promise to always tell the truth.