As the end of August approaches and September looms in the near future, each year I have this recurring struggle with everything August represents as opposed to everything September represents. August is full of long, hot summer days. The kids don't have a care in the world. They wake up all groggy-eyed, stumble into the living room to watch TV, play on the Ipad, or putter on the computer for a while. No concept or concern as to the time. If time enters their mind at all, it's because they're hungry. Their days are spent running around the neighborhood with whatever neighborhood kids they can muster up, most of them shoeless with feet the same color as the dirt that covers them. Their faces of a similar color from dirty hands rubbing their faces throughout the day. The sun hangs high in the sky for hours and hours and then drops into a colorful backsplash against the horizon. Then the August nights begin... s'mores around the fire pit, intense sessions of hide-n-seek, again all with no care as to what time it is, that is, until it's time to head in and get ready for bed. Then it's all bath time and bedtime routine. Bath time lasting a little longer in the summer because of the several layers of dirt and melted marshmallows smeared across their faces. Ah yes, August is a good month. Takes me back to those long, lazy days of summer as a child when time and dirt were of no concern.
Now enters Labor Day Weekend. The last weekend of the summer. The end of all that's lazy, loose scheduled, and carefree. Something happens after this weekend. Visions of big, yellow suns, swimming pools, and s'mores, are replaced with dancing pencils and rulers in my head. It's like a switch is flipped and summer comes to a screeching halt. Groggy-eyed, relaxed mornings are replaced with strict time schedules, hustled breakfasts, assembly lines of teeth brushing and clothes dressing, packing lunches, organizing backpacks, finding missing shoes - all of this before 9 AM. My mind immediately leaps to fall and Halloween (yes I know Halloween is in October). I happen to be unnaturally obsessed with Halloween - witches, bats, spiders, anything spooky, but that's for another blog.
I think why this whole shift from August to September intrigues me so much is because I feel like they are two distinct personalities, and when September hits, my personality changes along with the turn of the calendar. I'm all about back-to-school, fall, Halloween, turning leaves, fall clothes, tall boots, scarves, you name it! It gets me all fluttered and excited. But for this to all happen within a week so suddenly, it makes me feel a little sorry for August to get dumped so quickly as if it never mattered in the first place. After that month-long relationship of fun summer activities, how can I so quickly forget about our long lazy days together and everything August represented? I feel a little cold about my ability to shift gears so enthusiastically. But nevertheless, I do it every single year.
So for now, until September arrives, I'll make sure to enjoy this last week of long summer days and fun summer nights. Who knows, I might even actually eat a s'more!
Friday, August 23, 2013
Monday, August 19, 2013
When I Grow Up...
Well here I am. 37 years old, 4 kids, a husband, a dog, and I just lost my job. Ever wake up in the morning and think to yourself that your real life you just opened your eyes to cannot possibly be yours? That's the way I felt, and still do, since getting laid off a month ago. I've been through trying economic times with my previous employer over the past 8 years, watched countless co-workers, some very close and dear to my heart, get laid off. But not me. I just kept on truckin along comfortable in my job with the miss-placed arrogant notion that I would not and could not get laid off. I was too valuable. Too much of a team-player. Too liked by too many and too good at what I did. Apparently not everyone shared this notion alongside me. So here I am, 37 years old, 4 kids, a husband, a dog, and unemployed.
It's been too long since I wrote my blog. I love to write but I never made time for one of the things I love. So now that I have some time on my hands I can sit and ponder this. And while I ponder it, I can write, or type, my ponderings. I find myself in a position I haven't been in for quite some time. I'm asking myself, why am I not doing what I love? I mean, my previous position I did find enjoyable occasionally. I got to work from home, worked with some amazing people, gave birth to two babies while working there, made some everlasting friendships, made really good money, and increased my skill set that I now must depend upon to find myself a new job. But did I love my job? The answer is no. Sure I've told people I love my job throughout the years when asked if I liked my job. Who wants to hear someone go on and on about how much they hate their job? I don't. I wouldn't ask someone if they liked their job if I thought I would be subjected to 20 minutes of them complaining about just how much they don't like their job. But the fact remains, if I was being completely honest when asked, I would have been that person.
I've always been jealous of those who love their job. And not just because they make good money or it was their childhood dream job, but because they truly from the deepest part in their soul, love their job. You can tell the difference when someone truly loves their job. There is passion and conviction in their voice and their eyes light up with excitement when talking about what they do. Sure Confucius said, “Do what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life,” but is Confucius right? If you love what you do for a living, is it no longer considered work? You just receive a paycheck for doing something that fulfills you internally and makes you happy? It’s that easy? I may have to give this one to Confucius. I believe this to be true from the deepest part in my soul. I truly just want to do what I love. I may still consider it work, but at least I would be happy doing it and I could finally answer people honestly when they ask me if I love what I do.
So here I am, 37 years old, 4 kids, a husband, a dog, and I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up. So for now, I'm starting up my blog again. I'm claiming one piece of happiness back into my life.
It's been too long since I wrote my blog. I love to write but I never made time for one of the things I love. So now that I have some time on my hands I can sit and ponder this. And while I ponder it, I can write, or type, my ponderings. I find myself in a position I haven't been in for quite some time. I'm asking myself, why am I not doing what I love? I mean, my previous position I did find enjoyable occasionally. I got to work from home, worked with some amazing people, gave birth to two babies while working there, made some everlasting friendships, made really good money, and increased my skill set that I now must depend upon to find myself a new job. But did I love my job? The answer is no. Sure I've told people I love my job throughout the years when asked if I liked my job. Who wants to hear someone go on and on about how much they hate their job? I don't. I wouldn't ask someone if they liked their job if I thought I would be subjected to 20 minutes of them complaining about just how much they don't like their job. But the fact remains, if I was being completely honest when asked, I would have been that person.
I've always been jealous of those who love their job. And not just because they make good money or it was their childhood dream job, but because they truly from the deepest part in their soul, love their job. You can tell the difference when someone truly loves their job. There is passion and conviction in their voice and their eyes light up with excitement when talking about what they do. Sure Confucius said, “Do what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life,” but is Confucius right? If you love what you do for a living, is it no longer considered work? You just receive a paycheck for doing something that fulfills you internally and makes you happy? It’s that easy? I may have to give this one to Confucius. I believe this to be true from the deepest part in my soul. I truly just want to do what I love. I may still consider it work, but at least I would be happy doing it and I could finally answer people honestly when they ask me if I love what I do.
So here I am, 37 years old, 4 kids, a husband, a dog, and I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up. So for now, I'm starting up my blog again. I'm claiming one piece of happiness back into my life.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Summer, Poop, & Warrior Dash
We had our 8th Annual Taylor BBQ last week. The weather and people couldn’t have been more perfect. We always enjoy our annual gathering creating summer memories with friends old and new. We never know how many or who will show up each year, and it really doesn’t matter. We have some amazing friends and that is why our BBQ is always so enjoyable. One of the best parts is having kids of all ages running around the yard, getting dirtier with each time they come around. You usually know what food or drink they had because it is either still dripping off their chin, or is evidenced on their shirt in a soon-to-be stain. We have an incredible friend and photographer who comes each year and takes the most amazing photos of the kids and adults throughout the day. The photos are adorable because not one little face is clean. The environment is one that resembles a large daycare where all the adults help each other out with whosever kid is nearest them. Most of the time we don’t know where our own children are, but we know they are somewhere in the yard near another adult doing just fine.
We’ve had a bout with the flu in the family over the past several weeks. Having four kids it seems to slowly work its way into the house and slowly work its way back out. Lukey had it the longest with three different occasions of throwing up. Twice while Mommy and Daddy were in Vegas (first trip in 8 years away without the kids). Apparently this did not go over well with Lukey. He was very upset with the entire concept of throwing up. Grandma “Iowa” (as my kids call her), tried to explain to him that he was sick and he threw up his last meal. Lukey was very concerned that he saw food in the contents that just came up and Grandma told him he threw up his last meal, in an attempt to explain in simple terms the concept of throwing up. About a month has gone by since then and Lukey still brings up the events of him throwing up several times a week. Luke is very analytical and needs to talk through things so that he can understand and process them. A couple of days ago he brought it up again and relayed to me that he doesn’t like” last meals” because they make him sick and he throws them up. At this moment I realized for a good month now Luke has been completely confused as to what happened and what throwing up was about. After another couple of hours of explaining to Luke that the only reason he threw up his “last meal” was because he was sick. I think now he gets it, but he still needs to talk it through occasionally.
Last weekend Keith and I ran the Warrior Dash with some friends. This run involved 3.55 miles of mud, unstable terrain, and 11 obstacles. We were very excited about this run, knowing we would get completely muddy and that it wasn’t one of our typical runs that were competitive and more serious. It was basically thousands of people wearing ridiculous costumes and gear ready to get down and dirty. The obstacles were not very challenging and progressively got dirtier the closer we got to the finish. The last obstacle involved several fire pits you had to jump over and then finished with a massive mud pit, which in parts were a couple feet deep. The best part of this run was everyone came with a positive attitude and ready to face whatever obstacle came their way. It was therapeutic in the sense that you didn’t know what you were going to face with each obstacle, but you just faced it anyway to get through it. Plus, we ran with our friends and all faced the obstacles together. On so many levels it was a feeling of accomplishment.
I feel like I must report on potty-training developments. This has been a common theme in our home over the last 15 years, hopefully coming to a quick end. Layton is the last of our boys to go through the process. Anyone who knows us, knows we are not the best potty trainers out there. I feel we have many strengths as parents, unfortunately, potty training is not one of them. So tonight, like many nights, I decided to leave Layton with no pull-ups on to force him to pee in the potty. Many times he’ll just wait until we put clothes on him or his pull-up, or on some occasions, he’ll pee or poop on the floor - clearly an attempt to show us we don’t know what we’re doing. However, tonight for some reason he didn’t want to poop on the floor. He was complaining of a stomach ache and I knew he had to go. I kept telling him to go on the potty. Finally he decided he had no choice and he yelled that he had to go poop. So we rushed into the bathroom and he sat down and he instantly pooped (I think it’s safe to say we’ve all been there). So while he’s pooping on the potty, Levi decided to make him an award. Levi enjoys drawing and making awards and signs. Levi’s award said: “Good job you win an award.” At the bottom of this award he drew Layton on the toilet with about ten pieces of poops in the toilet. I don’t find many moments where my boys show affection toward each other, but this is one of those moments. I’m laminating the award to preserve this rare occasion (both pooping on the potty and Levi’s affection).
We’ve had a bout with the flu in the family over the past several weeks. Having four kids it seems to slowly work its way into the house and slowly work its way back out. Lukey had it the longest with three different occasions of throwing up. Twice while Mommy and Daddy were in Vegas (first trip in 8 years away without the kids). Apparently this did not go over well with Lukey. He was very upset with the entire concept of throwing up. Grandma “Iowa” (as my kids call her), tried to explain to him that he was sick and he threw up his last meal. Lukey was very concerned that he saw food in the contents that just came up and Grandma told him he threw up his last meal, in an attempt to explain in simple terms the concept of throwing up. About a month has gone by since then and Lukey still brings up the events of him throwing up several times a week. Luke is very analytical and needs to talk through things so that he can understand and process them. A couple of days ago he brought it up again and relayed to me that he doesn’t like” last meals” because they make him sick and he throws them up. At this moment I realized for a good month now Luke has been completely confused as to what happened and what throwing up was about. After another couple of hours of explaining to Luke that the only reason he threw up his “last meal” was because he was sick. I think now he gets it, but he still needs to talk it through occasionally.
Last weekend Keith and I ran the Warrior Dash with some friends. This run involved 3.55 miles of mud, unstable terrain, and 11 obstacles. We were very excited about this run, knowing we would get completely muddy and that it wasn’t one of our typical runs that were competitive and more serious. It was basically thousands of people wearing ridiculous costumes and gear ready to get down and dirty. The obstacles were not very challenging and progressively got dirtier the closer we got to the finish. The last obstacle involved several fire pits you had to jump over and then finished with a massive mud pit, which in parts were a couple feet deep. The best part of this run was everyone came with a positive attitude and ready to face whatever obstacle came their way. It was therapeutic in the sense that you didn’t know what you were going to face with each obstacle, but you just faced it anyway to get through it. Plus, we ran with our friends and all faced the obstacles together. On so many levels it was a feeling of accomplishment.
I feel like I must report on potty-training developments. This has been a common theme in our home over the last 15 years, hopefully coming to a quick end. Layton is the last of our boys to go through the process. Anyone who knows us, knows we are not the best potty trainers out there. I feel we have many strengths as parents, unfortunately, potty training is not one of them. So tonight, like many nights, I decided to leave Layton with no pull-ups on to force him to pee in the potty. Many times he’ll just wait until we put clothes on him or his pull-up, or on some occasions, he’ll pee or poop on the floor - clearly an attempt to show us we don’t know what we’re doing. However, tonight for some reason he didn’t want to poop on the floor. He was complaining of a stomach ache and I knew he had to go. I kept telling him to go on the potty. Finally he decided he had no choice and he yelled that he had to go poop. So we rushed into the bathroom and he sat down and he instantly pooped (I think it’s safe to say we’ve all been there). So while he’s pooping on the potty, Levi decided to make him an award. Levi enjoys drawing and making awards and signs. Levi’s award said: “Good job you win an award.” At the bottom of this award he drew Layton on the toilet with about ten pieces of poops in the toilet. I don’t find many moments where my boys show affection toward each other, but this is one of those moments. I’m laminating the award to preserve this rare occasion (both pooping on the potty and Levi’s affection).
Monday, July 4, 2011
What I love to write about most is my family and running. It seems all my Facebook posts have to do with one of these topics, almost always. Not sure why I decided now to start my blog considering I am almost certain I have a stress fracture in my foot and will not be running for the immediate 6-8 weeks if the X-ray (which I have not had yet) proves me right. Good news is my family provides for enough material on a daily basis so that my lack of running stories won't make for a complete waste of time for any reader who chooses to follow me.
Just to give a little background on my family, my husband and I have 4 children; Logan (15), Levi (6), Luke (4), and Layton (3). When I spout out these ages to people it seems to always follow with the same inquiries. First, they comment on how far apart in age our first two kids are. The simplest answer is I had Logan from a previous marriage. I do not often mention this and you'll probably never hear me mention it again. Logan's biological dad chose not to be apart of Logan's life and therefore doesn't deserve mentioning other than this explanation (which I know I didn't need to give but wanted to provide for a background). My husband is for all intents and purposes Logan's dad. Logan calls him dad and refers to him as his dad, and that is because Keith is everything a dad should be and we are very lucky to have him. The second inquiry is that our last two children are very close in age. The simple answer to that is our little Layton is what you would call an "oops". I've had several people attempt to correct me when I've referred to him as an "oops", stating that he is a "surprise", rather than an "oops". I assume they prefer that I call him a surprise to remove any negative conotation. Although this is thoughtful of them, the fact is he was an oops by every definition of this word. By no means does mean that we don't love him just as much as the other kids, and we honestly couldn't imagine life without him (this is what every parent says of their "oops" children), but he was the furthest thing from a planned pregnancy.
Now on to our whirlwind romance. Keith and I have been married for 8 years this May. We met through a mutual acquaintance and when the timing was right, we fell in love and got married two months after our first "date". It was the fastest, hardest and most deepest love I ever fell into. And with that said, I am more in love with him today than the day we got married. My love for him stems from the good man he is, the good provider that he is, and truly the best father a wife and child could ever hope to have. With 4 boys, having such an amazing role model for a father is essential in them turning into responsible, caring men. I have no doubt that's what they'll be.
Today is the 4th of July and I volunteered to work, only for my own sanity so I could process payroll and not be stressed with the deadline tomorrow. The hard part about this is I hear my kids upstairs with my husband laughing and playing, but mostly crying and fighting. This is probably why I am choosing to stay down in my office rather than be in a hurry to join them just yet. Yes I do feel guilty about that but I've found that I quickly get over these moments of guilt, thankfully.
This day will involve a trip to get fireworks from the reservation across the way. Still not sure how it's "legal" to buy "illegal' fireworks from the reservation but it seems no one really cares and it's not enforced. Each year at dusk on this holiday you would think WWIII broke out with the amount of fireworks, bombs, M80s, and all the other explosives that the men in the neighborhood ignite in attempt to show how masculine this holiday can be. I personally find this holiday, once dusk appears, quite annoying. I think any mother who has young children could somewhat relate to this, being that young children don't do well staying up late and all we really want is for them to go to bed and not have the war right outside their window keep them up. Now this may be just my anal rententiveness that causes this to annoy me, but it is what it is.
So now that I've provided a background into what I'm about, hopefully my blog will not be a complete waste of time for others to read. It will serve as my therapy so some good will come out of it. The stories I can tell with life in our house could publish for many books. But for now, I'll just concentrate on this blog and see where it goes. Happy Birthday, America!
Just to give a little background on my family, my husband and I have 4 children; Logan (15), Levi (6), Luke (4), and Layton (3). When I spout out these ages to people it seems to always follow with the same inquiries. First, they comment on how far apart in age our first two kids are. The simplest answer is I had Logan from a previous marriage. I do not often mention this and you'll probably never hear me mention it again. Logan's biological dad chose not to be apart of Logan's life and therefore doesn't deserve mentioning other than this explanation (which I know I didn't need to give but wanted to provide for a background). My husband is for all intents and purposes Logan's dad. Logan calls him dad and refers to him as his dad, and that is because Keith is everything a dad should be and we are very lucky to have him. The second inquiry is that our last two children are very close in age. The simple answer to that is our little Layton is what you would call an "oops". I've had several people attempt to correct me when I've referred to him as an "oops", stating that he is a "surprise", rather than an "oops". I assume they prefer that I call him a surprise to remove any negative conotation. Although this is thoughtful of them, the fact is he was an oops by every definition of this word. By no means does mean that we don't love him just as much as the other kids, and we honestly couldn't imagine life without him (this is what every parent says of their "oops" children), but he was the furthest thing from a planned pregnancy.
Now on to our whirlwind romance. Keith and I have been married for 8 years this May. We met through a mutual acquaintance and when the timing was right, we fell in love and got married two months after our first "date". It was the fastest, hardest and most deepest love I ever fell into. And with that said, I am more in love with him today than the day we got married. My love for him stems from the good man he is, the good provider that he is, and truly the best father a wife and child could ever hope to have. With 4 boys, having such an amazing role model for a father is essential in them turning into responsible, caring men. I have no doubt that's what they'll be.
Today is the 4th of July and I volunteered to work, only for my own sanity so I could process payroll and not be stressed with the deadline tomorrow. The hard part about this is I hear my kids upstairs with my husband laughing and playing, but mostly crying and fighting. This is probably why I am choosing to stay down in my office rather than be in a hurry to join them just yet. Yes I do feel guilty about that but I've found that I quickly get over these moments of guilt, thankfully.
This day will involve a trip to get fireworks from the reservation across the way. Still not sure how it's "legal" to buy "illegal' fireworks from the reservation but it seems no one really cares and it's not enforced. Each year at dusk on this holiday you would think WWIII broke out with the amount of fireworks, bombs, M80s, and all the other explosives that the men in the neighborhood ignite in attempt to show how masculine this holiday can be. I personally find this holiday, once dusk appears, quite annoying. I think any mother who has young children could somewhat relate to this, being that young children don't do well staying up late and all we really want is for them to go to bed and not have the war right outside their window keep them up. Now this may be just my anal rententiveness that causes this to annoy me, but it is what it is.
So now that I've provided a background into what I'm about, hopefully my blog will not be a complete waste of time for others to read. It will serve as my therapy so some good will come out of it. The stories I can tell with life in our house could publish for many books. But for now, I'll just concentrate on this blog and see where it goes. Happy Birthday, America!
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