I didn't get out of bed until after ten this morning. That's not actually true. I got out of bed to give Addison her medicine at seven. THEN I got back INTO my bed again. Then, at about 7:20 I got out of bed to separate Ryan and Addison because one was stuffing the other into the the third shelf of the bookcase. I don't temember who did what because A. It was before eight in the morning and B. I don't care. I don't. Maybe it sounds horrible, but I don't care about THAT either. I stopped caring about these things because I know that if I miss it THIS time, I will most definitely get another opportunity to do it well, in THIS particular instance, MINUTES later. At 7:42 the OTHER one was doing the stuffing, which was particularly disheartening since they were STILL supposed to be separated and I STILL wanted to be sleeping. DESPERATELY. I'm not really even sure how (or IF) I handled THAT, but I do know that eventually they were all allowed out--as long as they stopped poking me in the face and whining and complaining to me. You know--as long ast they stopped acting their ages and treating me like their MOTHER. I DID NOT want to do my job and I did NOT want them to do theirs. Finally (at like 9:24--yes, I DO remember the time!) they STOPPED bugging ME and went downstairs to have (what I choose to beliew was) fun with each other. And I slept. Quite soundly, I have to admit. And it was WONDERFUL! At about 10:07 ( I like to be approximately exactly), my guilt got the better of me and I dragged my sorry butt out of bed to greet my children. Luckily, they had kept themselves busy DESTROYING EVERYTHING. When I say everything, I mean EVERYTHING. The place was ransacked--it looked like Jack Bauer and his team tossed the place looking for potential government threats or...video games? All of our games and DVDs were out of cases and strewn about like someone was searching each one for a clue that evidently was not there. Shoes and socks were scattered about and buried under clothes and costumes. Cheerios covered the kitchen table and floor. Puddles of milk gathered on the table and two chairs. I know what some of you are thinking."How is this different from every other messy day at your house?" Well, it was our house times twenty. We are now at the level of clean that our house usually rests at comfortably. We are able to walk through each room without being forced to step on something. Most surfaces are showing--at least partially (unless you count the dust) and only one bathroom wall (and sink) is covered in toothpaste. See? Progress.
NOW I can focus. Since I am so well rested, this seems more difficult. Weird, right? I guess I need to have clutter--in my home AND in my brain to make this writing thing easier. I'll keep trying, however, since I've only kept you for...ten minutes? now.
When I was at the hospital I got to thinking (which is usually quite dangerous for me). We were at an INCREDIBLE children's hospital and were treated quite well. All of the children entering and exiting seemed to have the BEST attitudes and most of them are regulars. Cystic Fibrosis, Cancer, Leukemia...Spina Bfida, heart disease, Krohn's, Graves and Pseudointestinal Disorder...these amazing kids are fighting serious illnesses and diseases every day and going to the hospital is to them what going to grandma's house is to a lot of you. They spend more time in the hospital than they spend in school--that is IF they go to school. I don't mean to bring everyone down--the thing is, these kids AREN'T down. the rest of us are for any trivial thing, but these kids (and their extraordinary parents) are happy and hopeful. They don't complain because they know what a blessing each day is, but the rest of us...I don't know. And when I say "us," please don't take it personally--maybe it doesn't apply to you. Mostly I'm talking about ME and people like me. If you feel defensive, maybe you are more like me than you care to admit. I know some of you ARE these kids and some of you ARE these parents, and I guess this is my way of telling you how much I admire and respect you. We never talk about these things for fear of making someone feel bad about what they are enduring, but not talking about it may be worse--I don't know.
What I DO know is how tired I was last year after staying up all night in the ER with Brayden and then staying up all night with him the night after he was admitted (I was afraid he would stop breathing if I didn't stay up with him). I DO know how tired I was after staying up all night with Addison the night before we were sent to the ER because I was dumb enough to look at the internet description of what she COULD have had. I know how tired I was waiting in the ER for only ONE day while they tried to determine whether she needed to be admitted or not and how tired I was after a night of "sleep" in the hospital. All together I am complaining about maybe four or five days. Some of you do this as a way of life. Four or five days a WEEK. THAT is too many days. And you don't complain. I read posts from friends who are in the ER with their children weekly, sometimes bi-weekly and I can't stand it for them. Without getting into the emotion of each visit, it is exhausting, but add to it the worry and frustration of having a sick child and not knowing what will happen next...you mothers are absolutely amazing. And fathers--I don't mean to leave out the fathers. I wish I could say or do SOMETHING to commend you the way you need to be commended. People say we are only given what we can handle, but how THAT doesn't piss off a mother (or father!) who is enduring the pain of a sick child, I don't know. Yet another reason to admire and respect you.
I don't know how many of you believe in the power of prayer, but it can't hurt to have well-wishes sent your way, right? Regardless of your belief system, nice thoughts are nice thoughts, and that is essentially what prayer is, right? Sending healing thoughts to a person only through a higher power who probably has more control over getting things done than we do. Why WOULDN'T you want that? I will take happy and healing thoughts from ANYONE who is willing to send them to me--regardless of their belief system. Some people judge me for that and I am OOOOKKKKKAAAAAYYY with that. I'm working on this judgment thing myself lately, and I'm not too impressed with myself. When I justify my actions to myself and think (I was just being funny--I like to laugh!) I realize that I must be a bully--AND a hypocrite because there is nothing I hate more than a bully. Well, that's not true--I hate hypocrites more than bullies. Great. Anyway, I am really going to try to practice what I preach. What do I care if my neighbor lets her three-year-old drink coffee? What business is it of mine if my son's friend watches rated R movies when I don't even let him watch some Disney shows? Who cares WHEN people decide to decorate or undecorate for holidays? They are probably all judging ME--and could you BLAME them? I am a toaster totin', child yellin', husband fightin', mouse infestin' hypocrite who thinks she loves and accepts everyone. UNLESS...they have Christmas lights up in February.
What I've always known, but haven't actually PRACTICED, is that every day is a gift. Not just every day--every day we are not in THE HOSPITAL or in pain--is a gift. I don't want to wait until something bad happens to someone I love before I start appreciating that and start treating people--to their faces and not--the way I want to be treated. Without judgment and with knowing I don't always know the whole story and even if I do, it's really none of my business. But why would you WANT to give a three-year-old coffee?
I am a former teacher/ SAHM of three who needed to do SOMETHING so that we would all come out of this alive and unscathed. I don't really have a blogging philosophy, though I have many THEORIES...for example, "In THEORY, it would be a great idea to get off of the computer and wash a dish..." yet here I sit. I have a THEORY that my musings may help people to see that they are not alone--or maybe they will just make ME realize that I AM alone...nah--I'm sticking with my first one. Better than therapy, I tell you!