Category Archives: Great Gabby

The girl stands about yay high and has major soul – she talks a lot, but what she says is really important to her. Nodding your head like you’re listening is a no-no on her list. She’s bright and hilarious – my mini me.

Thursday Morning

We’re running late this morning.
Of course, we just started running late, we’re always on time until one of the kids announce that they forgot they had to be at school early for archery, or Spanish club, or study group… or anything else that could throw our morning into a pile of screws.
“mom are the red bowls microwave safe?” I hear Grace call out. “Yes” I say and then wonder to myself if they really make bowls that are not microwave safe these days? What a waste that would be. “Good” she calls back, “all the other bowls are dirty”.
Whats the point in loading the dishwasher if you’re not going to run it? I lecture myself.
I hear the buttons on the microwave beep, 1 minute 30 seconds, it’s what is required for the perfect bowl of oatmeal, I silently wish I would have had oatmeal this morning.

The microwave begins to whir when Gabby says “Oh Mom, I do have archery this morning”
Grace and I look at each other and then look at the clock on the oven.

It’s 7:37. Grace has to be at school by 7:50 if Gabby is to be at archery by 8. No time to eat your oatmeal at the table like a good American family now.

I tell the girls to grab their jackets, school bags and Gabby’s lunch as I plop the hot oatmeal into a mug with a handle for Grace to eat on the way to school – whip open the silverware drawer just to give myself the second fat reminder in five minutes that I didn’t run the dishwasher, so her choices are a fork or a serving spoon. I select the serving spoon and run and start the Beemer so it can be warming while the kids continue to gather their belongings.

On the ride to school Grace calls her dad to tell him good morning using her sisters phone, texts her boyfriend back a “good morning” from her phone and takes a bite of her oatmeal at the same time. I smile, cause if there’s one thing I’ve taught her, it’s multitasking.

Gabby reminds me from the back seat that she needs an excuse letter to miss the Archery tournament tomorrow – so I lean over to the floor board to rip a sheet of notebook paper out of Grace’s spiral just as she gathers it up to jump out of the car and begin her school day. She’s fumbling the door open as I’m going down the list in usual morning routine .

“you do have money for lunch?” “yes mom
“and your school ID?” “around my neck
“and your phone?” “love you, bye mom
“bye”

We come to the worlds longest stop light and I began to write Gabby’s cop out letter. After 16 years of parenting, I’m skilled at cop out letters, but this one is truthful, and unfortunately, something I have to write often.

“Gabby will not be able to attend the archery tournament on Friday…” I begin just as the light turns green. I throw the pen and paper into the seat next to me. I might juggle a lot but there is no way I’m going to try to write and drive. Being at a complete stop is one thing.

Between three long stop lights I finally manage to get the words out in blue ink:

Gabby will not be able to attend the archery tournament on Friday as she has visitation with her dad in Tulsa”

Gabby pops out of the car while I’m running down the usual morning list with her:

“got your lunch box” “yep
“and your backpack” “uh huh
“did you turn your cell phone off?” “bye mom, love you
“bye baby, be sweet.”

I slip into the driveway five minutes later and gather the wrappers and oatmeal cup from the car.

Step into the house and immediately begin to load the dishwasher with the dishes of the morning so I can finally run it. Oh God, please don’t let me forget to run it again. I’ve been beating myself up over it all morning. I wipe down the counters and the table and notice that the place mats are crusty. I use that word lightly. “sick” I say out loud while scraping what may have been a lucky charms marshmallow off with my fingernail.

I gather all the place mats and the throw-blankets from the living room for the washer, but when I go to put them in, I see that Gabby has left her laundry wet in the washing machine from last night. I want to be mad, but I left the dishes in the dishwasher, so I’m really not a good example.

As I am digging through the washer to separate what can be dried from what will shrink if I even exhale on it, I fish out her swim suit. It’s January. I’m not even going to ask.

The load isn’t full so I go into her bedroom to see if there is anything that needs washing, and on her bed lay 4 shirts. She did laundry last night, so these surely can’t be dirty – but I learned a long time ago that the sniff test is just self inflicted punishment, so I scoop them up too and throw them into the most jumbled load of laundry that ever was.

Rerun is whining at my feet, so I lean into the pantry and scoop out a cup of dog food for his bowl, with an equal sized cup of water to drink, he’s so excited I think his 10 pound body might knock me over. I pour the pebbles into his ceramic dish and think “that’s the last mouth I have to feed for 6 hours”

Feed. Yes. Thank God I remembered. I shuffle to the fridge to lay something out for dinner tonight.

I look through my appointment book, satisfied that there are no conference calls today, I locate my laptop and sit down on the couch, it’s finally time to write.

But first, I really need to run the dishwasher.

Linking up with Bees With Honey on Let’s Bee Friends Friday

and also with: http://melomomma.com/2012/01/blog-hop-19/

Wordless Wednesday – A bond like I’ve never had

I wasn’t raised with my sister. In fact, the first memory I have of her was when I was 5 or 6.

I get so frustrated when the girls scream at each other, I try to tell them that not everyone is as lucky as them, and that someday, when mom and dad are gone, they will be each others strongest and closest link to their past.

But they continue to bicker.

And I swear they’ll never get it.

But clearly I am the one that doesn’t get it. They have a bond I’ve never experienced.

I am so glad they have each other.

My Linky has been broke for weeks but this week it works! It works! So Click and link up!

My husband? Oh – he makes magical meatloaf

I’m just going to take a few minutes here and brag on my husband, because not every post here has to be some emotional uncovering from the depths of my…wherever. When I started keeping a blog in 2006 it was seriously to chronical my life. Now it’s for that and because I’m an attention wh**e as my blogosphere bestie calls it.

Sunday we were all freaking stressed. Between Baldy’s pending neuro appointment, my pending cardiology appointment and the week of hell stemming from my 16 year old tornado, our house was just d.o.n.e being a family. No one was on speaking terms. And I really didn’t care for a minute.

Anyway, we hadn’t set down to a meal together without a fight in a good week and somehow the God’s spoke to Baldy and convinced him to be Martin Stewart and pull our family back together.

So I started smelling something in the kitchen but ignored it except for the occasional “when will dinner be ready?”

I think once I said “need me to help” – which I always say while sinking into the comfy couch begging inside that he say “no” because me in the kitchen? Mess.

I finally rounded the corner to catch this kind of kitchen action that made me giggle and think of the cafeteria lady back in Elementary school.

Bald Lover

And while I know you can’t tell what the heck is going on in this picture, the man is seriously stacking my potatoes on top of my meatloaf. Because we are so damn spoiled by his cooking that we can’t, you know, eat our food in separate bites.
When he was finished assembling the meal we were presented with Meatloaf, mashed potatoes and mushroom gravy layered goodness, with a side of fresh green beans and told to sit, and eat.

And we did. It caused us to shake our head at him together, and giggle a little, and within a few minutes, we were all enjoying our dinner without worrying, without fighting, without the awkward silence that has fallen on us a few times over the past week.
Of course the tower of goodness eventually falls to a million pieces while you eat it, but for some reason it was the perfect thing to get our family re-connected.
The girls even mostly ate their mushrooms without a whole lot of begging, twisting of their faces or complaining.

And ever since? There has been no fighting, no tears, and very minor health related stress. I’m calling it the magic meatloaf.
Oh, and just to brag a little more on my husband? He didn’t leave me a mess to clean up, he cleaned it, and then I caught him CLEANING THE HOOD VENT. Not even kidding.

My Dearest Santa,

Dearest Santa,

I haven’t been so good this year. I know I promised to be better in 2011, but I lost track somewhere along the way.
I fussed about housework, even though I promised I would be thankful for the opportunity to clean up after those I love.
I grumbled when Gabby wanted me to watch movies with her, even though I swore I’d take in every parenting moment I could.
I griped when Grace borrowed my shoes (and jewelry and purses and hair accessories and…) even when I remembered that that would come to an end in a few short years when she’s an adult.
I was short when my husband asked for a kiss after I had already rolled over. I know it doesn’t take much to roll back over and give him a kiss, but it was the principle that I’d been facing him all freaking evening and when I finally rolled over to sleep THEN he wanted a kiss. I was tired you know, from the house work, and the bitching about all of the other things.
I know.
I’m pretty lucky that someone like him wants to kiss me.

I could have given more at church, I could have volunteered more time, I could definitely have cussed less when in traffic with a bunch of damn idiots. There I go again. You know me, always making promises I can’t keep.
I make mountains out of molehills and I fight to be right, not to solve problems. I get by doing as little as I can and if I do much more than that, I make sure that people take notice.
Somehow I’m loved, but in retrospect, I wasn’t much of a blessing in 2011.

So I don’t want any presents.

But the girls and Bald Lover have been anything but naughty. Oh sure, there’s attitude and stuff, but they all get that from me. So along with their presents, could you help the day go beautifully. Make the Ham edible, help me to bite my tounge, Prevent me from arguing with a teenager until they cry, just for this one day.
Let the “economically friendly”presents brighten their eyes, and let their dad call them and not get into a fight.
Just this one Christmas.
And next year, I promise, I’ll be so super awesome. I really will.
Love,
Momwich

P.S. Don’t eat the cookie on the right, it has been on the floor.
P.S.S : We’re also making you Peanut Butter Pie

 

 

I freaking love lovelinks!

Wordless Wednesday

– Christmas Programs are as much a Christmas Staple as stockings and gift wrap 🙂

 

 


I was so very very late with the linky this week… like, its almost freaking thursday. Sorry.

TGHIO

TGHIO

It stands for Thank God Halloween Is Over. It’s an all new acronym, feel free to use it if you hated Halloween as much as I did.

As I mentioned in this post I really dreaded Halloween.

My ex-husband handles that Holiday because of his insane love to spend moola to dress up and trick-or-treat with his best friend. I handle *all* of the rest of the holidays because I’m the mommy. Only this year, the ex-husband decides not to handle it because it’s on a week night and we live an hour away (an hour, so, like, not in another flipping state, but whatever, I will not rant).

Grace decided that at nearly 16 years old she’d go with her friends and watch movies and eat junk food – so she wasn’t home, and Doug was set to go to a meeting/event for his rehab. It was the set up for pure disaster. Just me and Gabby on the Holiday of shit.

Gabby was going to have a makeshift Halloween costume – as a cheerleader from hell, using her sisters former cheerleading outfit. It was a few notches down from the handmade costume that she had from her dad and (busted, name removed) (his girlfriend)..

 Her dad had planned take them costume shopping this past weekend if Bald Lover and I would pay him back, but baby daddy is a college student with a boat-load of homework so time ran out and we were making due.

It really looked like it would be a dreadful holiday, like all the Halloweens before.

But then Bald Lover bought three big bags of candy to pass out. I’ve never been able to pass out candy on Halloween. For 9 of the 14 years I lived in Tulsa, we had to go to the ex’sbest friend’s house so they could dress up together and trick or treat, consequently our house was always dark and undecorated (and often egged by angry trick-or-treaters).

And Bald Lover decided to stay home from his event to spend time with us — he walked WITH us and wasn’t preoccupied.

. And Gabby looked awfully pretty in her costume, if dead can be pretty and it didn’t cost us a thing.

 Trick-or-treating was fun, we saw neighbors, the weather was gorgeous, and our few trick-or-treaters were delightful. The dog barked and the candy was delicious, and Grace was home before curfew and suddenly Halloween wasn’t bad afterall.

And then it hit me. I don’t hate Halloween, I hate that I never created the opportunity to enjoy it for so many years. Being married to Bald Lover and in this great city has done something to me.

Halloween is a little more awesome.

Also, white chocolate peanut butter cups are to die for.

Can’t wait for next year.

{Favorite Fridays} Words from Mom

I know they aren’t much to look at  – simple little basic journals, with symbols on the front that really don’t symbolize anything at all, the UPC on the back shows a dollar general code, reminisent of a time in my life when all I could afford was dollar store. These journals were purchased in 2002, making me 22 years old at the time, with two children.

In late 2000 I had fallen pretty terribly ill, and hadn’t done much recovering, I was feeling awful, and questioning if I would live to see the girls grow up. In a last ditch effort to be there for them, I purchased these journals and begin to write to them on a regular basis

“Gabby: Today you looking into the full length mirror in my bedroom and delighted you said “mommy, I’m so big now, I go all the way from the floor to my head!” – 06/04/2003

“Grace: Today when I was slightly short tempered, you asked me in your small voice if I still liked you, and like a complete smack in the face I realized how hurtful words can be to such a sweet spirit. Of course I like you. I love you, and I appreciate you reminding me that my actions affect others”. – 06/17/02

Though when I purchased these journals I thought I would fill them up with all sorts of things from how to choose a man to marry to how to make my pot roast, all of the things you want to pass on to your kids, all of the things that in that time I was unsure I would be able to do. Instead it turned into occassional updates garnished with emotions and coupled with mild life advice from mom. I’ve been writing in them since 2002 – nearly 10 years. I always know exactly where they are, and sometimes when I fear the kids are getting too big for mommy, I sit and read the passages to remind me of the days when they were young.