Mammas the Queen

It has been a whole week. Five actual days. And Thing One actually still LOVES school.

PRAISE THE LORD AND LADY!

On Monday she played with old friends, hammered in some nails and worked with the pink tower. And on Tuesday she did, "The same thing." On Wednesday she did,
"The same thing." On Thursday she did , "The same thing."
On Friday she did something different. It's about time. Sheesh.

Thing One "The yellow things are monsters. And the red thing is you Mom and you are feeding the monsters. And the blue one is Dad."

Me "Am I feeding Dad to the Monsters?"

Thing One "No. But the yellow monster with the red top is nice."

Lets play shrink for a bit. Shall we? OK then. Looking at this picture you can tell that there is a significant difference in the size of the persons painted here. Knowing that bigger is always portrayed as a dominant figure over anything smaller than it. We can come to the conclusion that my children view ME as being the dominant one in the family.

Head of the household.
The one who wears the pants in the family.
The decision maker.
The Queen of the castle.

It's nice to have ones ego stroked every now and again.

A declaration in many acts

ACT ONE
I am not a hypochondriac! I am not! I am not! I AM NOT! Every ounce of my being resonates with your utterances. Your neglect. Your cruel, heartless, uncaring, wound making, life altering, slashes of disregard. You are just wanting attention." "You are such a hypochondriac." You are over exaggerating." "Nothing is wrong with you." "It is all in your head." These statements have made me who I am today. They are the DNA that define me. AND IT IS ALL YOUR FAULT! My parents that float between hell and heaven. Can you hear me? Can you finally hear what I am saying? Now that you hover above my soul in your limbo. Can you finally understand my pain? Can you see me slowly change the very cells of my body from your disillusioned hell to my absolute reality?

BECAUSE I AM NOT A FUCKING HYPOCHONDRIAC! I WAS SICK! I AM SICK! AND MOST OF IT IS ALL YOUR FUCKING FAULT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Flash back: Last year around this time. I was in the hospital for five long days. I couldn't breath. In the most honest way possible it was months building to that point. Perhaps if I had only given into it all in the beginning and got checked out I could have avoided it all together. But wait. That would have required a bit more cleansing of the tainted blood in my veins. So instead I stalled. I excused. I masked the reality of exactly how much I couldn't breath. Till, after three prior trips to the emergency room for breathing treatments, they finally could not open me up. So up to the respiratory floor I went. With breathing treatments every four hours and after every meal and a slow drip of steroids to keep my lungs inflated.

Nothing was helping. Until I realized that my attacks came on strong after each and every meal. So the Doc had my stomach and gut checked out. Lucky me! Add to really fucked up lungs one huge GERD problem. I was breathing in my own stomach juices. "Hows a little acid with that chemical laden air sound to you?" So now that we had even more added to my cart of life they send me home with a load of meds that kept me busy every hour. Puff 1. Swallow 2. Puff 3. Swallow 4. Breathing machine 5. No energy 6. Can't walk across the room without loosing my breath 7. Be sure to take the steroids AFTER I drive the child to school (because if not we could end up in the ditch) 8. Worry about my health 9. Wonder if my life would be any different if my parents ever listened to me A REAL BIG FUCKING 10.

Back to the present: It has all been coming back. The no breathing. The insane illness. The tiredness. The monster sinus headaches. The ear infections. The stomach aches. The lack of hunger. The other things that are just too gross to print. But this time. Oh this time. My DNA has been restructured. Out with the old and in with the new. As I ignore the echoes that reverberate from my past I make my appointments. All five specialists called and set in stone. And, dammit, I will see these doctors and we will dig to the bottom of this hell hole. We will uncover the ugly truth and we will set it free. And with its freedom I will have my recovery. And with my recovery I will have my freedom.

The controversy of Bon Bons and Thing One

So here is another New Moon. And once again I have been so wrapped up in my day to day life that I didn't even realize it. Not until I saw it on another blog. It is even written on my freakin' calender. What kind of Witch am I? After all, am I not supposed to have some kind of six sense about this? Some kind of tingling? A flash behind closed eyes? A spirit popping in like that of a bird in a cuckoo clock stating, "New Moon. New Moon." in sing song. Crap! There are moments in time when I feel so disconnected from this planet. And once again I ask,

"WHAT KIND OF WITCH AM I?"

And yet, even though there is no circle, no incense, no candles, the New Moon brought change and new beginnings into my life. Tonight is the first night before the first day and the first day back to school for Cat in the Hat and Thing One. Tomorrow we start third grade and kindergarten. I have no worries over Cat in the Hat. She LOVES LOVES school. To punish her I threaten to take her out of school and make her miss days. And she always whips right back into shape. Odd. Very odd. Especially knowing that she came from me. Why?

Because I hate school. Love to learn. But hate school. I can't exactly say what it is or if there was any particular moment or moments in my schooling career that led me to this feeling. But I can say this, the more my children become schoolers the more my anxiety of it all builds. Sounds silly. Even now as I type it I feel silly about it all. I mean what is it that I should have a problem about? It is my kids who are in it now, not me. I am the adult not the student. But yet when ever I get near a school, a teacher, a classroom I just start getting anxiety attacks.

Case in point: We had open house the other night and on my way home I gripped the steering wheel so fucking hard that my knuckles were bloodless, white and sore. I told Lord of the House that he needs to start becoming the parent that interacts with the school system. I can not handle it any longer. And this is where I worry about Thing One.

We started her off in PreK two years ago. She was three. The same age we started Cat in the Hat at. I know. I know. You can not expect one child to be like the other. But in the Montessori system age three is the age to start with. She loved school. Well at least class. And the teachers. And the tools. And the learning. And fellow students. And recess. Maybe not so much lunch (she threw most of hers away). But hated going. I mean HATED. They would drag her off kicking and screaming. It sounds more horrible than it really was. But from a Mothers perspective it was WAY worse than this description. She would comment every night at the dinner table that her favorite part of the day was NOT being in school. Like me, there was no one moment or thing or teacher or student that could explain her feelings. Just that she did not want to be there. Like me.

So what does this mean? It means that I will not go an entire year again to realize that
She. May. Be. Just. Like. ME. (Can you feel the cringe?) And then what? (And I ask again, can you feel the cringe?) I will have to buckle under for the bumpy ride of home schooling. Not exactly what I envisioned for the next 13 years of my life. I was hoping for bon bons and soap opera days and "what did you do in school?" dinners. But then again I have always said that if anyone was going to send my children to a pricey therapist when they get older it's gonna be me.

Could it be too late to teach her that the sky is actually red?

Even adults can cave to peer pressure

A week or so ago the neighbors and I were outside. Just sitting in the yard enjoying each others company and the sweltering heat. As we watched the children melt into the blistering hot asphalt someone mentioned that they haven't had a really good peanut butter chocolate chip cookie in a really long time. So I told them that I make one hell of a peanut butter chocolate chip cookie (well, I do) and would bake some up as soon as I got enough peanut butter.

Well, I finally made it to the hundred dollar store and stocked up on some peanut butter worthy of my tasty creation this last week. And then raided the local Sprouts for chocolate chips since Sunflower is no longer open on my side of town. Sad really. I did this all during the week knowing that I can look forward to a big bake off come this Saturday morning. Weekends are my baking days since I started on that SRP saving energy program. Although I have been diligent with not using the utilities I do not see much of a savings as of yet.

I must mention here that I do have a rather nasty sinus infection at the moment. Add to that one son climbing into bed with us late last night. On top of two daughters that, upon sharing a bed at one point in the middle of the night, thought subconsciously it would be a good idea to pee the bed together while sleeping. So I woke early this morning, just as the sun began to rise, to the two discussing which sheets they should replace the wet ones with. Needless to say I had very little restless sleep last night and decided to put them all in front of the TV while I slept in a bit.

At least that is what I thought I did with them. You see, when I decided to go ahead, in my sicky state of being, and make the cookies something was missing. I gathered all the ingredients out of the cupboards and fridge. Being sure that all was here before cracking one egg or pouring any peanut butter. And thank the heavens I did. For I could not find the chocolate chips any where. I knew I had put them up in the top cupboard. So sneaky hands would not pillage the land of yummy chocolate. Obviously I need to find another hiding spot. I called all three of my children into the kitchen to drill the truth out of them. To my surprise Thing Two chimed in rather quickly and asked me to follow him because he knew where they were. The gourmet cook inside of me just screamed and cried and threw the butcher knife across the room when my feet led me to the backyard. The hot and melty backyard. And there on the kids picnic bench lay my chocolate chipless glob of a bag.

My plans for the day ruined, I went about moping and being sick and complaining that, "there will never be another cookie made in this house again!" Or at least until the Lord of the House got home so I can go to the store to buy more chocolate chips. So the day turned into the evening and I sweetly tucked my terrible three into their beds and waited for the Lord of the House to arrive home. I popped some popcorn and uncapped a bottle of coke (the kind from Mexico that has real sugar in it instead if HFC) and settled down to the great musical Chicago. I only get to the fourth musical set, you know, the one where the seven death row inmates tell their stories of how they did it, when he gets home. Earlier than I expected. But that is what DVD's and pause are for, right? So I kiss him goodbye and take my list to the local market.

It had choc chips, vanilla, flour and a roast, because the Lord of the House is wanting pot roast for dinner. But of course I bought a few other things that were not on it. Who doesn't? They were tortillas, strawberries, bananas, cake flour, straws and the new Harry Potter book. Dammit! I couldn't help myself! It was there! Right there! Right where you walk into the store! Just staring at me! Begging me to buy it! Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh the peer pressure of it all!

Surprise! It's a New Moon

The New Moon was on the 14th. I mulled over rituals in my head. Thinking how nice it would be to feel that energy that comes from high Magick. Knowing that practice makes perfect. And on the 14th New Moon came. And the New Moon went. And not much of a ritual was performed. No circle drawn. No candles were lit. No incense burned. No Quarters called. No Goddess and God called upon. No cakes and ale served. No Blessed Be muttered. Nothing.

Nothing but the mundane. Nothing but the normal routine happenings of life as we know it. At least they seemed normal at the time. But now that I decided to sit and write of one particular incident over this last weekend, as I peered at my calender, I realized that amazing, out of the norm, Magickal happenings occurred right before my eyes. And I did not even realize it. But isn't that what life is all about? The small changes that guide us gently into the directions that we must go?

Isn't that what the New Moon is all about? To make changes. Small or large. About life, love, family, friends, work, personal awareness. It is a great time to take on new endeavors. To begin a new career. To work on personal changes. To start new projects. And as the Moon grows to its full and robust self with strength and power so shall these new changes in life grow and become a part of us.

My friend of old, Superman, had a few things happen to him over this New Moon cycle. He at last found a connection with his Mother. He flew up to see her this last week to strengthen the bond between them. Right before moving to Albacookie (as Cat in the Hat calls it), NM to be closer to his son. A new life awaits him in NM. Hopefully a life that will fulfill his hopes and dreams. Even those hopes and dreams that he is not yet aware of.

My husband, where from here on out will be knighted Lord of the Manor, received his Lairdship from Scotland for his birthday. It was something small and whimsical but I swear his shoulders are a little more straighter as he wears his new title with pride.

Cat in th Hat has yet lost another tooth. Right in front. On the top. There lays a gaping hole where the shiny pearl once resided. A hole that she proudly shows off to any person that is not as squeamish as I am to look at it. Although she has been losing teeth for a few years now, every shining pearl lost is one step closer to being older. As far as she is concerned any ways.

And last but not least Thing two. What can I say about my son and his great personal change?

"Mommy. Mommy. Come look!" Thing Two screamed happily across the house.
"What is it?" I cautiously asked.
"Look! I can see my penis!" Exclaimed my son in great pride.

As he pulls the skin ALL the way back and the shiny pink head pokes out.

He now has a whole new way of playing with his toy of choice.

BLESSED BE.

I relinquish all control

OK maybe not ALL control.

I have always been a neat and organizational freak. But after three kids, a few calming drugs and a more than a hectic lifestyle I have learned to ease back on it a bit. Although I do still tend to have my more than manic moments. :/ But the lax of my need for this control over the household really just hit me over the past couple of weeks. See. Cat in the Hat has her fathers gene handed down from ancestors long ago mating with the pack rat out sheer horniness and nothing else to lay at the moment. Add to that their lack of organizational skills and you get one big huge dump for a bedroom. Picture, if you can, the old bag lady in the Labyrinth starring the handsomely famous singer/actor David Bowie? Yeah that scary. I often wonder if she will be a poor bag lady or a rich eclectic collector of rare and odd artifacts. But I digress.

I have always in the past took way too much time, energy and sighs nit picking through her piles of drawings, magazine clippings, books, toys (broken and not), jewelry, clothes, shoes, bobbles, stones, trinkets and whatever you may imagine to find at the bottom of a pile that has not been gone through in ages. And, yes, including a few dead somethings that you can no longer recognize. I have tried to instill in her my innate ability to know when to keep the treasure that was just found at the local department stores purse section or to toss the trash that stuck to the sidewalk and took twenty minutes to pick off. I have tried all in vain to offer up boxes, baskets, bags and drawers in hopes that she would use them for something other than another spot to overload with more junk, um, treasures.

Well, we talked, once again, about cleaning out her room, going through and picking out a few (actually more of enough to fill a huge ass box) items to trash or give away and then organizing the rest. Once again. And once again she took, really, way too long of a time to get her room actually to a semi clean state of being. MONTHS. WEEKS. DAYS. OK just days. But still. When she finally got to the point of it being my turn to come in and get her back to organizational bliss I just had a moment of deep anguish, deep despair, the unbridled deep desire to run and run as fast as I could in the other direction. WHAT? ME? Run away from my most deepest and darkest addiction? What has gotten into me?

The only conclusion I have been able to come up with is that I no longer want that kind of control over my daughters life. I have given her a cave of her very own. Separate from the rest of the mountain. She has reached the age of her own definability and she should be allowed to create her space in whatever way makes her feel safe and comfortable and happy in there (Really, whatever it takes to keep her in there, right?). At the grand old age of eight she is coming into her own decorating style and as much as it's going to kill me I will relinquish my control over it all.

All except when it becomes a complete disaster and the floor has disappeared below a mountain of crap, um, treasures.

I see fairies

Every now and again I find the Magickal child within me. Every now and again I see her reflection in my children's eyes. Every now and again I slow down long enough to let her play and dance and sing and create.

This past week was my neighbors Birthday. We could have never paid for a better neighbor. She is kind, funny, wise, loving, beautiful, fun and wonderfully awesome with my kids. She has taken them in often to do crafts with her. Which inspired me to have the children make her a gift. Nothing big or expensive or fancy. But from the heart of three children who absolutely adore her.

We searched for colored paper, pipe cleaners, glitter glue, glass rocks, a glass vase from around the house and dug deep into our imaginations. And with every drop of glitter that fell from their tiny hands their Magick created the most loved and beautiful bouquet of flowers any woman would be proud to own. Each had a reason for the colors they chose. "This is my favorite color because with every gift you should give a little of yourself." One would say. The other, "Can I go over and ask her what her favorite color is? She should have her favorite color as a flower too." "Every flower needs a butterfly!"

When all was done and the children proud of their creations I scanned what would appear to any adult a mess of all our scraps across the coffee table and a son dangerously playing with a skewer. But in the Magick of the moment I could only spy wands. Beautiful, Magickal wands made especially to usher in the Summer Solstice. And so it began again. The whirlwind of imagination, creation, laughter, skewers, papers and pipe cleaners. "These are the colors I want to use." "I would like a paper star made out of green." "ickity, bippity boo! You are a cow!" How delightful! How wonderful! To see my children turning each other into frogs and cows and chairs and playmates and friends and laughter.

Magick, laughter, imagination, creation, love. Magick, laughter, imagination, creation, love.

As the Summer Solstice slowly makes it way across the sky, I start to see the Magick grow in my children. There is something to say about the high holidays and the spirit in the air. It is brief at times and within a blink it can pass one by. But when I look back at the end of the day I can see it so clearly. In the flowers, the wands, the glistening skin as they jump into the pool, the glitter in the lotion we use after baths, their smiles, their laughter and the words they speak, they believe as we wind down the evening out in my neighbors yard under the smile of Lady Moon, "Mom, I see fairies!"

Fairy light. Fairy bright.
Hope to see fairies tonight.

SO MOTE IT BE.