Conversation in the Burse House…

Mom: What is THIS? (points to sign on bedroom door)

Katie: We have passworded (her word) our bedroom, Mom!

….said with eyes above glasses…looking at the way my mother looks at me when she is telling me something i should do, or should have done, or shouldn’t have done at all.

Mom: New rule: until you know how to spell the word “please” and the word “password” maybe we can live without the “keep out” signs….

Katie: Mikayla translated in her sign.

Mom: Fabulous.

Katie: Did you check the mailbox? You have a Passport.

Mom: I do? Wait, the one outside?

….put boots on, go outside, open mail box, return to house….with Passport…

Katie: See.

….as if i should have known. she smiles proudly.

Mom: I’m frustrated.

….hand Katie Passport.

Katie: Let me take that for you.

Mom: I don’t know the password.

Katie: Cupcake. Duh….

 

 

This morning, my husband got up before 5 am to feed William.

Awesome, right? So far, so good.

He got up before 5am. I laid in bed, awake but content. Sleepy but not sleeping. Happy with the baby sounds emanating from just the other room…sounds that said to me….

“Wow, we are stupefyingly impressive parents. So good, in fact, we should just move to a big farm house, live off the land, have a lot more kids, and create our own sickeningly utopian language of love”.

5 seconds passed.

Something or someone threw up. There were foot steps. Thrashing. Toilets flushed. Some loud talking. Some more flushing. Some more throwing up. Water ran.

I closed my eyes. Tight.

 (I am not sure if you knew this, but Katie told me just the other day….If you close your eyes very tightly, you can move to a distant land and no one will ever know. She also named her pet, fake, toy cockroach Kiwi. Another tidbit…drinking out of the ‘worlds smallest glass’ is the only way to get rid of hiccups. What is the worlds smallest glass, you ask? Just the shot glass in the back of the cupboard. Oh yes, there were other glasses tried (nine actually). But only that one, that she got herself from the tippy toe of her tippy toe, was the one that cured the hiccups).

With the next flush I opened them and decided maybe it wasn’t something that worked on 32 year old’s with 3.5 children and a mortgage.

….

That is how my morning started. With a pile of work on my desk, someone throwing up, someone needing breakfast, someone having ever lasting hiccups (more than 30 seconds), someone needing a bottle, my husband needing to shower and go to work, the cat was meowing and rubbing my leg (not for affection…no…for food)  and I hadn’t had a cup of coffee.

I have to laugh.

Because next to one of them getting hurt, throwing up is what I fear most about being a parent. While you would think that buying my first car, getting married, having children in and of itself, or buying a house was the point when I FINALLY realized I was an adult….none of those did it for me.

Nope, it was when I was cleaning up someones expelled fluids that it really hit home.

I have to laugh.

Because I wouldn’t trade it or change it, or melt it to mold it any other way. It just wouldn’t be a normal day if I hadn’t been spit up on, thrown up around, or put my hand in baby poop accidentally.

I still wish I could teleport, though.

Maybe next week.

i turned 21 a few weeks ago.

hahahaha (that even sounded ridiculous on the computer screen)

i can’t even lie any more because i have an almost 10 year old.

i turned 32 years old. 32. t h i r t y . t w o.

first, i have never been one who dreaded a particular birthday. my mom said, for sure, i would have a nervous break down when i turned 30. but as far as i could tell, 30 wasn’t much different than 26-29 other than the fact that i noticed hairs growing on my chin (eww). maybe it was the fact that i was on pregnancy #2 in less than a year, or that, in that particular week, i just happened to slow down long enough to think or breathe…but, on the cusp of that 32nd year of life, i felt myself really looking back, looking forward, looking inward…sometimes with hope, sometimes with panic, sometimes with indifference, and sometimes with pensive happiness. 32 was just….a swear word (insert word of choice) with an optimistic, humorous even….footnote.

thirty.two:

“People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that’s what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that is holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life.
A true soul mate is probably the most important person you’ll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too painful. Soul mates, they come into your life just to reveal another layer of yourself to you, and then leave. A soul mates purpose is to shake you up, tear apart your ego a little bit, show you your obstacles and addictions, break your heart open so new light can get in, make you so desperate and out of control that you have to transform your life, then introduce you to your spiritual master…”  Elizabeth.Gilbert

thirty.one:

Best blog post I have EVER read: By Glennon on Momastery: Don’t Carpe Diem. Story of my life.

thirty:

i love photography. i fully intend to take photographs the rest of my life. it was and continues to be my daily passion. confession: i don’t, however, want it to be my life long profession. i want to write. for this magazine:

after traveling all over Maine for weddings and sessions, i have come to love and appreciate our people and way of life in a way that i never would have imagined. this truly is a magical, unique place to live.

twenty.nine:

the most beautiful thing i have photographed this year:

this outhouse (yes, a real outhouse…), lined with curling, faded photographs documenting the life and love of my bride Christa’s family. it sits up from a Thoreau-esque pond in Southern Maine, where she and other relatives and friends made countless priceless memories every summer. like most photographers, i spend a lot of time trying to get published on websites and/or  in magazines. the day i saw this, i stopped trying (for real). my goal: to get one of my photos in THIS outhouse. because this is where it counts….

maybe it will be this one of Christa:

twenty.eight:

overheard at the grocery store check out line: “i’ve counted. in the last month, i have called him 28 times. 28! he never picks up…i always have to leave a voice mail. do you know how many times he’s called me? 9. he never answers my texts, and when i do actually get to speak with him, he is always ‘busy’ or ‘getting ready to go out’.”

hardest lesson learned as a woman…who am i kidding?…as a HUMAN BEING: he’s.just.not.that.into.you

twenty.seven:

“the cure for anything is saltwater: sweat, tears, or the sea.” Karen.von.Blixen-Finecke

twenty.six:

Confession:

i bragged endlessly about how the girls when “strait to the crib” and “never slept a day in bed with me”. endlessly.

William….has spent less than 10 hours total in his crib TOTAL. yup, he still sleeps in bed with me.

have i tried?

not really.

sure, we have mobiles, nightlights, singing gadgets that light up on the side of his bed with flowing water, bird noises, nature a flow, one of the best baby monitors on the market….i spent 3 months on his nursery. it is the most beautiful room in the whole house.

he sleeps in bed with me. every night.

he is just SO cuddly.

twenty.five:

first, you have to promise not to laugh. pinky promise.

i have a theme song.

now, before you judge, this is a legitimate confidence tool i learned in college. (cough.cough) i mean, i learned it on Ally McBeal. season one, episode 17 (not that i know them by heart or anything super dorky like that). oh, and THIS YouTube link to the actual scene isn’t in my bookmarks or anything.

every time i feel a bit of trepidation, nervous, or scared, or emotionally insubstantial…i play my theme song in my head. or in my car. or on my iPhone. sometimes more than once. sometimes several times.

my theme song currently:

                       

 

twenty.four:

what i say: “i don’t care what other people think about me.”

translation: “i care what other people think about me.”

 

twenty.three:

“never chase love, affection, or attention. if it isn’t given freely by another person, it isn’t worth having.”

twenty.two:

in the 14 years since i left home after high school, my father has only visited me 2 times. we have always lived 2 hours away. i bought my own home 5 years ago…he has never seen it. this year, he forgot Mikayla’s birthday and Katie’s. he has never seen my son. he has made several plans to visit and either cancelled at the last minute, or just not shown up at all.  he has never seen my work to my knowledge other than the photographs i have sent him of the kids. i have spent countless hours driving to visit him with two little girls who get severely car sick (sometimes even with medication). we were so close when i was a little girl…he was a great father and is a great man. i don’t know what happened, but so much time has passed that i am afraid to ask…and i’m also afraid to hear the truth if i finally get up enough guts. regardless, i feel so much sadness that my girls refer to him as ‘Mom’s father’, and not Grandpa.

twenty.one:

fact: there is nothing in the world like making blueberry muffins from scratch, with blueberries you picked yourself that morning with your kids. even if they did complain the whole time, and it did take you an hour to pick this ONE cup.

twenty:

more than anything, i wish all of my couples would take the time to dance at their wedding. over the year or more i spend with them, i see them go through so much stress. the day goes by so quickly…..sometimes i drive home worrying if they had any fun.

nineteen: 

 whenever i make a list about myself, i am in the check out line with pure strangers, or i am meeting someone new for the first time, i feel compelled to mention that i have ran a marathon. and, not only did i run one, but that i beat Oprah’s marathon time. it was like 4 years ago, but i bring it up whenever i can, as often as i can…even if it’s not applicable to the situation or conversation. fyi. i plan on doing this for the rest of my life. talk about it that is, not run.

eighteen:

i wish all obituaries were as interesting and honest as this one: Val Patterson’s Obituary

seventeen:

more on the death topic….i never intend to die, but if i do, i don’t want a funeral (i really hope my kids use the money to pay off their student loans instead). however, if my children insist, they must abide by the dress code…

and wear these groucho glasses.

sixteen:

“our lives are defined by opportunities, even the ones we miss.” {f.scott.fitzgerald}

fifteen:

i truly believe, if you focus on what you have in front of you at this very moment and are thankful for it, you will have more in the end. if you concentrate on what you don’t have, it will never, ever be, and you will never, ever have, enough.

fourteen:

thirteen:

best invention EVER: Go-Girl

twelve:

i’ve sold credit cards, cell phones, plants, art, clothing, luxury mens watches that cost more than my car,  high end costume jewelry, and shoes. i’ve been a landscaper, bill collector, receptionist, cashier, grocery bagger, pizza slinger, sandwich maker, and bee keeper. i’ve worked in a book store filled with gorgeous books and taught poetry to children. i’ve sold computers….over the phone, and worked for fortune 500 companies. i’ve washed, folded, and pressed peoples clothing. i have pumped gas, in a -20 degree Maine winter. i honestly have never had a job i didn’t like. some were more intense than others (it is really hard to sell computers and printers over the phone, by the way…VERY hard), and bill collecting wasn’t glamorous (although, i did make VERY good money…way more than i do now), but i was never unsatisfied with any of them.

eleven:

                                                                                                              Nick’s mom’s fridge inspiration: Christa and Nick’s wedding

ten:

almost all of my best memories in childhood and young adult hood stem from a truly amazing group of friends who got me through the thick and thin of growing up. we have all taken different paths, but the older i get, the more i realize how lucky i was, and how they shaped my life for the better.

nine:

“everything that i know, i know only because of love….” {tolstoy}

 

eight:

if the movie “The Goonies” is on, i will stop everything i am doing, no matter how important or pressing, to watch it. i have it on DVR, but it’s just not the same. half of the excitement is catching it on TV and getting up only to pee and get snacks (or change the baby’s diaper).

 

seven:

after 3 kids and 5 pregnancies, i know the secret to loosing weight.

ready for it?

eat less. move more.

(UGGGG….the truth is SO harsh sometimes)

 

six:

i love that the two weeks we were on vacation this summer at the lake, i didn’t have to beg, bribe, and fight with my girls to go outside and play. don’t get me wrong, i love technology and we have several computers and/or electronic devises in our home. but…i can’t help thinking that it really robbed them of a certain amount of creativity and wonder.

 

five:

i love that being in Maine means a lot of ocean side, beach weddings. i can’t think of a better, more romantic place to have one. however, i really wish that people would think of the time of day when they schedule their ceremony. there is nothing worse than a beach wedding in the full sun, at 3-4 pm, in 90+ degree heat, and a white dress. i will give $500 print credit to anyone who has a beach wedding in 2013 and schedules it at sunset and mentions this post. (i am completely SERIOUS!) and if you have made it this far, you deserve it.

 

four:

making him smile….

…..is my favorite.

three:

i genuinely feel, with as long as woman have been having babies (that is a REALLY long time), that there really should be a cure to morning sickness by now.  i think the cure to the common cold can wait. let’s focus our attention on what matters, most. me….not puking on someone’s wedding dress.

two:

they say: you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone.

the truth: you knew exactly what you had, you just thought you’d never loose it.

one:

“I want a life that sizzles and pops and makes me laugh out loud. And I don’t want to get to the end, or to tomorrow, even, and realize that my life is a collection of meetings and pop cans and errands and receipts and dirty dishes. I want to eat cold tangerines and sing out loud in the car with the windows open and wear pink shoes and stay up all night laughing and paint my walls the exact color of the sky right now. I want to sleep hard on clean white sheets and throw parties and eat ripe tomatoes and read books so good they make me jump up and down, and I want my everyday to make God belly laugh, glad that he gave life to someone who loves the gift.”  {shauna.niequist}

Melvin:  “Some have great stories, pretty stories that take place at lakes with boats and friends and noodle salad. Just no one in this car. But, a lot of people, that’s their story. Good times, noodle salad. “

:excerpt from As Good As It Gets:

he sat first, with goofy grin on the goldenrod yellow Formica counter top of my childhood home. i stood on a chair dusted in flour and as i leaned over to look in the mixing bowl, i could feel the grains of sugar gritty in between my chubby, 3 year old fingers. my mother would let me stir and when she wasn’t looking i would sneak a finger full of cookie dough. her back turned to me as she bent over the stainless sink to wash the wooden spoon, no way to see or hear….she would always know and scold me gently. her hair was cut short to her neck, and i could see by the way her ears perked up, she was smiling. we would bake the cookies, let them cool, and then fill the turtle cookie jar. its just a cookie jar. a ceramic, hand painted by my Grammy Young cookie jar, just for my mother because she loved and collected all things turtle. as i grew up the turtle traveled with me through out childhood and into adulthood. through the separation and divorce of my parents, through different apartments, homes, and stages of life.

it’s just a silly cookie jar. but when it came to my house this weekend, delivered excitedly by my mother, it brought back so many happy moments spent in the kitchen with my mom. we would make full days of baking sometimes. it wasn’t just special, but where she worked 80 hours a week on occasion, it was often our only time for just us.

 i placed the cookie jar on my counter and paused to take in the turtle in all his glory. same goofy grin. i looked at him a while. an awkward while, to where if he was an ACTUAL turtle he might feel a bit nervous. i don’t cook often with my girls. honestly, it drives me crazy. i have no patience for frequent spills and eggs shells in the bowl and inexact measurement.

in fact, i don’t even bake cookies that often.

and i hate that about myself.

i definitely like to eat cookies.

with a side of milk.

and guilt, of course.

yesterday, after the girls came home from a day of summer camp, we baked cookies to fill the turtle. as usual, my idealistic view of how this would all unfold was skewed radically and i found myself wondering if i had been adopted or missed the gene that is required for creating tender, storybook moments with my children. anxiety stricken with each cloud of flour settling onto my floor, wincing painfully through one too many teaspoons of baking power, and hiding my intense desire to tell them to go play in their room when most of the egg shell wound up in the bowl, and lots of nervous laughter, i survived. literally exhausted emotionally, i cleaned the kitchen and took cookies out of the hot oven. i placed them on the rack to cool. Katie bounced up next to me, her face barely breaching the top of the counter, she peaked with outstretched neck and one blue eye at the steam rising from the chocolate chips. a smirk of heavenly satisfaction across her rosebud lips, she proclaimed loudly enough to startle William from his catnap in the bouncer,

“BEST DAY EVER!”

she shuffled off quickly to her next adventure, a wave of flour dancing behind her as she departed. as the last curl in her Goldilocks hair curved around the corner, i shook my head and wondered if we had just witnessed the same disaster…all the while an uncontrollable, unexpected smile spread through my heart and onto my face.

yup. BEST DAY EVER.

i try to show real parenting. today, i am laying it on the line.

let’s talk.

this whole teething thing…is a bummer. my girls didn’t get teeth until the were over a year old. when they got teeth we threw a party because we thought it would never happen. literally, cake was served and there were no tears. no pain, just party hats and pastel streamers.

just when i was starting to get more than 2 hours of consecutive sleep, these teeth started to come.

and you know what is awesome (not), there is no actual teeth..there are just little teeth buds that pop in and out, in and out….

i am a mom…i fix stuff. the crying baby, the skinned knee…the clogged toilet. it turns out teeth are immune to Mom, and her kisses, and her homeopathic remedies. and apparently Orajel is poison. sweet.

my dad’s advise: “Well….your mom used liquor…apricot was your fav. that is funny…you love fruit and WINE now.”

thanks dad.

mom’s advise: “i never used liquor THAT much with you, but it did seem to work.”

awesome.

(you wouldn’t even know they were divorced by this conversation)

what i have found works….

his sisters and TOO CUTE on Animal Planet. yup, i know…he shouldn’t watch TV at his age…i am probably destorying his brain cells and determining his future intelligence.

did his sister try to dress him up today?

yes, they did.

did he love it?

yes. he did.

i am okay with that.

today.